


Authorised Tactics

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Undercover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Before becoming a deviant, Connor was programmed to do anything necessary to complete his mission, including using sex to get information. When an especially brutal case comes up on appeal, Connor decides that Hank shouldn't know about what was done to him as part of the job. Unfortunately for both of them, Hank's a damn good detective.[Abandoned WIP - will most likely not be updated again. Apologies.]
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Original Male Character(s), Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 36
Kudos: 226
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this kink meme prompt](https://dbh-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/717.html?thread=6605#cmt6605). 
> 
> Unfortunately unlikely to be finished at this point - I've left it up anon (with comments disabled) in case anyone wants to read it as it stands but I doubt I'll be posting any more to it. Apologies.

They barely make it out of the courtroom before Hank rids himself of his tie.

It's an entirely adequate tie -- slightly creased and not quite as neat as Connor's own but certainly not bad enough to merit the level of disgust on Hank's face as he crumples it up and shoves it in his pocket. "I hate wearing these fucking things."

"You looked nice," Connor says mildly. "More formal attire suits you."

"You'll forgive me if I don't take the word of Ties McGee on that," Hank says as they wind their way through the hallway. "You'd wear a tie to bed if you could."

Connor files that suggestion away for the next time he and Hank have sex. "I'm a detective. It helps to look smart."

"Yeah? Well, I'm a detective too and it helps to not have that fucking noose around my neck while I'm working,." Hank glares down at the tie in his pocket like it's wronged him somehow. "What's wrong with just letting raw talent shine through?"

Someone laughs behind them and Connor slows to a halt when a female voice cuts in, "Raw talent? Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Connor feels Hank tense beside him but his face soon lightens with a smile when he sees the woman behind them. 

"What can I say," he teases, "calling it 'animal magnetism' seemed kind of a mouthful."

The woman rolls her eyes but her smile matches Hank's as she moves in for a hug. "Good to see you again, old man."

She looks the same as Connor remembers: that old white scar standing out against the olive skin of her cheek; her dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail; and a blue silk scarf tied neatly around her neck. It's all very familiar but he runs a scan out of habit, just to see if there's anything new he can pick up.

_Kadis, Vanessa_  
Born: 03/06/1996 // Police Lieutenant  
Criminal record: None 

He registers the promotion, searches the DPD staff archive for confirmation -- _Lt. Kadis, Vice, promoted July 2038_ \-- and smoothes down his tie as he waits for Hank to finish the hug.

"Let me guess," Kadis says, pulling back. "Judge Harmon?"

"Still got that damn preference for style over substance," Hank grouses. "But hey, he gave us our warrant so I guess I can go back to being a slob in peace." 

Hank takes a step back, resting his hand on Connor's shoulder, and Connor watches Kadis register his presence for the first time. 

Her eyes widen in surprise but Connor keeps his expression neutral as Hank says, oblivious, "Oh, guess I should introduce you. Kadis, this is my partner, Connor. Connor, this is Detective Kadis. We were on a task force together back in the day before I got lured away by the glamor of homicide."

"Lieutenant Kadis," Connor says with a nod. "Congratulations on the promotion."

Hank looks at him. "Wait, promotion?"

Kadis chuckles. "I'm glad at least one of you reads the staff announcements." She hesitates, like she isn't sure whether to hug him or not, but she settles for a handshake which Connor accepts gratefully. "Good to see you again, Connor. I saw all that android business on the news a while back but I, uh, didn't realise you were still on the team."

"Hank and I have been working together for some time now," he says. "It's going well."

"Wait," Hank says again, increasingly confused, "you two know each other?"

"You know I worked for the DPD before I was assigned to you," Connor reminds him. "I assisted Lieutenant Kadis with some vice cases."

"Oh." Hank says. "Right. I knew that. Not the Kadis part but the DPD part." His tone is somewhere between jealousy and curiosity when he asks, "So what cases did you two work on?"

Kadis' eyes find his. Connor opens his mouth to answer Hank's question but instead of words, his system only offers him flashes of different memories.

_Greedy hands sliding down over the front of his pants as a large body keeps him pinned in place._

_The cold stickiness of the floor beneath his bare legs as he lowers himself to his knees._

_The empty black lens of the camera and the collar tight around his throat._

_The back of a hand colliding with his cheek and the obedient gratitude which falls from his lips in return._

_Strong, warm fingers wrapping around his jaw while the frosted glass door clicks shut behind them._

His breath catches as he comes back to himself. From the way Kadis' gaze flicks to his temple, he knows his LED is something other than its usual blue and is grateful Hank is standing to his left as he fumbles for a response.

"Drug cases, mostly," Kadis says. "Some gambling and prostitution here and there but the drug guys were the real catches."

"Aren't they always," Hank says with a grin. "Did he do that thing where he puts half the stuff at the crime scene in his mouth or is that a homicide special?"

Connor's vision shorts out for a millisecond. _A hand tugs on his hair, forcing him down onto the length that's already filling his throat. The pressure is too much but before he can try to speak, to say stop, he feels his voice modulator crack under the force of the intrusion. He doesn't get to speak again for a while after that._

Confusion flickers across Kadis' face, like she's not sure what answer Hank's looking for, but she soon settles on the truth. "No, his mouth definitely got a decent amount of use."

"Glad to know it's not just me then," Hank says cheerfully. 

The ropes of tension that have wound their way through Connor's neck and shoulder plates seems to tighten. He knows his LED is spinning, likely more red than yellow now, and he tries to force his software to slow down and eliminate this error. 

He was a machine, he reminds himself; he did a job with the vice squad and he did it well. It was a long mission, working his way through smaller players up to the real target, but it was accomplished successfully. He was designed for this, for investigating, for negotiating, for being used to obtain information -- it's all in his programming and he had no qualms about playing his part.

So why does he feel so uneasy at the thought of Hank finding out about any of it?

"What brings you down here then?" Hank asks and Connor almost sags in relief when he realises Hank doesn't intend to press the matter. "'Cause if you're here to steal my partner, we're gonna have to have words."

"Don't worry," Kadis says, relaxing into a smile, "I'm not here to steal your man, Anderson. I've got plenty on my plate without adding an android to the mix."

"Exciting times in vice city?"

"Scumbag times in scumbag city," Kadis corrects him. "Population: Mr Richard Shitdick Calderon."

Connor freezes. _The strong, warm fingers turn his face to the side, baring his neck enough for Calderon's teeth to scrape over old ligature marks. Connor keeps his eyes down, running scans to distract himself, but shuts them down abruptly when he registers dozens of splatters of dried thirium staining the wooden floor._

"That's one hell of a middle name," Hank says. "Can't say it rings a bell."

"Count yourself lucky," Kadis says. "He's an asshole. An incredibly rich asshole who's hired some sleazy fucking lawyer to drill holes in our watertight case. So now I get to go through the joy of a bullshit appeal process."

The memory vanishes from Connor's vision, replaced by a warning for him to reduce his stress levels. He closes it. 

"He's appealing?" he asks. "On what grounds?"

Kadis seems surprised that the question has come from him rather than Hank. "Some procedural shit. Everything was by the book, I'm sure of it -- he's just testing his leash now that he's locked up for the next couple of decades."

Connor straightens his tie. "You're certain?"

"Hell yeah I'm certain." Her gaze lingers on his LED again and she says, "Tell you what, how about we catch up next time I'm in the precinct? I can give you an update on how the case panned out -- I think you headed over to hostage negotiation before the trial wrapped up -- and we can make sure we're all on the same page when it comes to Calderon."

He catches enough of her meaning and nods, grateful to have the opportunity to agree on how much they should tell Hank. "I'd like that. I'll speak to you then, Lieutenant."

He nods again, ready to take his leave, but is stopped when Hank steps forward. "Hey, you're making plans with my partner but not with the best lieutenant you ever had?"

Kadis feigns looking around. "Wait, Webster's here?"

"Oh, hilarious," Hank says with good-natured sarcasm. "Now I'm reminded why I haven't seen you for two years. It's all coming back to me."

Kadis laughs. "Okay, fine. But you're buying at least the first two rounds."

Hank makes a non-committal noise. It takes less than half a second for Connor to identify it as his 'that is definitely not happening' noise. "How about I buy the first round and we take it from there, huh? You free this evening?"

She nods. "Yeah, I think so, just as long as Detroit's criminal masterminds take it easy on a Tuesday night. Smokehouse?"

"I'll be there at 8," Hank says, "assuming there are no pressing murders."

"We can only hope," Kadis agrees. She moves in for another hug, squeezing his shoulder as she pulls back. "It was really good to see you again, Anderson. Let's not accidentally avoid each other for the next two years, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Hank says. "I'll see you this evening. Have fun with Shitdick."

Kadis groans and Hank laughs as he slings his arm around Connor's shoulders. They part, Kadis heading deeper into the courthouse while Hank and Connor retreat back out into the fresh air, and Connor's stress levels begin settle back to normal.

There's a spring (of sorts) in Hank's step as they leave the courthouse. "Well, I guess some good did come out of this visit."

Connor raises his eyebrows. "You do know we got the warrant we wanted?"

"Yeah but I had to put on a tie for that. It only counts as a win when good things happen without me having to make personal sacrifices."

"Noted," Connor says. "I'll be sure to include a section in the report on the hardships you endured."

Hank chuckles, digging in his pocket for his car keys. "Do that. Make me sound heroic."

There's some awkward jangling as he fights past the scrunched-up tie to retrieve the keys and Connor resists the urge to reach for his coin when he asks as casually as possible, "Do you want me to come with you? This evening, I mean."

"Nah," Hank says, freeing his keys with a fistpump of victory. "We'll just be talking about old cases and complaining about the idiots we used to work with. You're better off out of it."

"Are you sure? I can-"

"Stay home," Hank says as they come to a stop by the car. "Sumo's been dying to have you all to himself for a few hours. Apparently you make a better dog bed than I do."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be," Hank says, sliding into the driver's seat. "Who wouldn't want to have that giant idiot of a dog trying to suffocate them for a few hours?"

The strange tension fades to nothingness and Connor finds himself smiling as he takes the passenger seat. He really can't argue with that.

+++

It's closer to 8:30 by the time Hank makes it to The Smokehouse that evening. He can blame maybe ten minutes of the delay on an actual murder but most of it was down to watching Connor fall asleep on the couch with Sumo sprawled on top of him like a furry starfish. A man's got to have priorities.

It's a familiar bar, albeit one he hasn't been to for almost a year now, but he's pleased to see that the worn-down armchairs on the ground floor look just as decrepit and comfortable as ever. Kadis is already there, tapping out messages on her phone and making in-roads into a gin and tonic, and Hank picks up a (double) scotch from the bar before going over to join her.

"So bad news," he says, dropping into a lopsided green chair, "Webster couldn't make it. I think he was too busy staying home to prune his goatee into just the right shape."

Kadis laughs, slipping her phone away and picking up her drink. "Nice of you to finally join me. Let me guess: someone got murdered."

"Bingo," Hank lies. "Couldn't be helped."

Kadis makes a skeptical noise but raises her drink anyway. "Cheers. To no more crime for the evening."

"To no more crime that we know about," Hank says, clinking his glass with hers. He takes a generous swig, soothed by the familiar burn of whiskey, and waits for Kadis to set her glass down before he makes his move.

The smile he's worn since the courthouse drops away as he says bluntly, "So you want to tell me what the fuck really happened when you were working with Connor?"


	2. Chapter 2

Hank has to give Kadis credit -- she recovers pretty damn fast. Still, the flicker of panic is a good sign of a guilty conscience and he stays quiet, keeping his eyes on hers to see how she decides to play this.

"Connor?" Kadis repeats, her voice a little too high. "The android? We just worked some cases together. Why?"

It's almost insulting that she expects him to be so easily duped. "Come on, Vanessa. You think I didn't notice all that back at the courthouse?"

"All what?" Her attempt at a smile is strained. "Maybe you're getting paranoid in your old age, Anderson."

"Maybe," Hank allows, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Or maybe I'm just impatient when it comes to putting up with people's bullshit. Especially when it involves my partner."

Kadis hesitates, gaze dropping to her hands, and Hank presses his advantage. "We've been working together a while now. I don't need to see his LED putting out fucking disco colors to know when he's rattled and back there? That was one hell of a rattle. So, you want to try again with that answer?"

Her shoulders sag. She takes a large gulp of her drink and seems to be searching for the right words as she says, "I- It was a rough case. The Calderon one. It took a long time for us to get where we needed and earn the trust of the right people."

Some of the pieces click into place. "You went undercover."

"Not me," Kadis says. "You ever work with Detective Powell?"

Hank shakes his head.

"Must've been after your time," Kadis says. "He transferred over from the gang squad. Really experienced, spent a lot of time in deep cover."

"I can feel a 'but' coming."

"He's kind of a dick," Kadis admits. "He was a good choice for the assignment -- he got us what we needed -- but I can't say I'd want to spend much time with him."

"So you had Connor do it instead?"

"Yeah." Kadis purses her lips. "Given Calderon's proclivities, we didn't really have the option of using a regular officer but even if we did, no-one would've authorised the operation with a human in that position."

Hank's grip tightens on his scotch. "And what did that position entail?"

Kadis gives him a cynical look. "He's an android. I'm not going to say it was pleasant or that he was treated well but for the most part it was no worse than what androids were made for. Obviously that was before all the revolution shit -- we wouldn't be able to do the same thing again now -- but back then it was pretty standard. I know that doesn't make things better if you're, like, friends with him now but I swear, it was nothing personal. We had a job to do and he was literally built to do it."

"He was built as a detective," Hank counters. "If you needed someone to sleep their way to your target, get a Traci."

Kadis raises an eyebrow. "Oh, so you're okay with us using androids as long it's not your one?" 

Before Hank can answer, she continues, "Anyway that wasn't what we used him for. Sure, there were certain _implications_ but Powell kept an eye on him. Their cover was that Powell was new on the scene and had this shiny prototype android but he was very clear about not sharing him."

The feeling of nausea that's been there since the courthouse drops away, replaced with something like relief. Hank's seen how Reed treats Connor, remembers how he himself treated him when they first started working together, but while he hates the thought of Connor being paraded in front of a gang of assholes, he's glad the situation wasn't quite as bad as he anticipated.

"So what made Connor so fucking twitchy about seeing you again?"

Kadis shrugs. "Damned if I know. He seemed fine after we got Calderon; kind of beat up but still his usual robot self. Maybe they feel different about things after they break their programming or whatever it is they do?"

Hank sits back in his chair and Kadis relaxes a little at the added distance when she adds, "Look, if he's having trouble with what happened, I can't really blame him. It was a shitty situation and if he'd been human, they would've made us send him for counselling or something afterwards, but I honestly didn't think androids cared about stuff like that."

Hank tries to picture Connor in a DPD-mandated counselling session. His imagination soon fills in Sumo as the most effective counsellor for Connor and he wonders whether that reflects worse on Connor or himself.

"I can talk to him," Hank says. "I just wanted to make sure I wasn't stumbling into a minefield. If you've got any more detail about what happened, I'm all ears."

"I'd offer to let you read the reports but Powell's never been the most long-winded when it comes to write-ups," Kadis says with a rueful smile. "High level? Calderon was pretty high up in the red ice trade but his real obsession was with androids. He had ties to some seriously fucked up porn guys back in the day."

"Android porn? There's not exactly a shortage of that around."

"Android fucking," Kadis clarifies. "He claims to have had every non-kid type of android which CyberLife has released."

" _Had_ like..."

Kadis grimaces. "Yeah. I did tell you he was an asshole."

Hank's stomach turns. "But he's never had an RK800, right?"

"Nope. Apparently he had some other kind of RK a while ago -- a 400 maybe? -- but he'd never even met an RK800. So we figured that was our way in. It took a while -- we couldn't just walk up to him and say 'hey, we hear you like to fuck androids, here's a neat one, please tell us about your crimes'. Powell started lower down with a dealer, a club owner, other shady fucks like that who moved in the same circles as Calderon."

"With Connor in tow?"

"His cover was that he had a friend high up at CyberLife who passed him a defective RK800 prototype which failed early control testing. Connor was, I don't know, his assistant? Boyfriend? Pet? Some combination of the above, I guess." 

Hank's eyes narrow. He's never met Powell but already strongly dislikes him.

Kadis ignores him. "Whatever it was, it worked well enough to catch Calderon's attention. They got invited to some fancy party at his mansion and then managed to get their hands on enough info on Calderon's red ice business to put him away for a long time. Mission accomplished."

"And Calderon didn't... y'know, with Connor?"

"Fuck him? No," Kadis says. "I mean, he probably got groped a bit but I can't exactly file assault charges for people grabbing an android's ass. No sex though, I promise." Her lips curve in a knowing smile. "The android's all yours."

"What?" Hank's cheeks heat, which he chooses to blame on the scotch. "We're partners-"

"Yeah, in the bedroom context as well as the cop one," Kadis says with a wink. "It took me a while to be sure but I'm right, aren't I? Never would've had you pegged as hooking up with an android, Anderson."

Hank takes a very, very long drink. "I'm not talking about this."

Kadis grins in triumph. "I knew it! Man, I almost wish Calderon was still around to see you getting what he couldn't."

"It isn't like that," Hank says firmly. "I- He's not a trophy or anything like that. We-"

Kadis' eyes go wide. "Oh, wow. You're actually together? For real?" She laughs, more at herself than at Hank. "Shit, I sound like I'm 15 again. I feel like I should go home and write this in my diary in gel pen. 'Anderson hearts Connor'."

"Unfortunately, I'd have to track you down and shoot you," Hank says with feigned sincerity. "Sorry to dampen the mood."

Kadis laughs again, this time holding her hands up. "Okay, okay, I get the message. My lips are sealed. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry about what we used him for with Calderon. I've had my fair share of gross men trying to get in my pants and it fucking sucks. It probably still sucks even if you're an android."

"I'd assume so, yeah," Hank says. "But the apology's appreciated. And thanks for letting me know what happened -- talking to Connor is easier when I know what I'm supposed to be talking about."

"Anytime," Kadis says. "Let me know if you need my help with anything el-"

She stops, cut off by the beeping of Hank's phone. Hank digs in his pocket to find it, cursing under his breath, and sighs when he finds the familiar notification. "Shit."

Kadis looks at him with sympathy. "Duty calls?"

"As always." He downs the rest of his scotch and winces at the burn. "At least I got through one drink without a murder happening?"

"Small mercies," Kadis agrees. "Do you need to go?"

Hank's phone lets out a cheerful little trill to inform him that Connor has also sent him a message. 

_There's been a new homicide! Meet you there?_

"Yeah," he says to Kadis, replying with the same to Connor. "Sorry. We'll do this again."

"We better," Kadis says. She gestures to her nearly empty glass but fails to hide her smile. "You still owe me two drinks."  


+++

  
It's a thirty minute drive out to the crime scene, a rundown house in a neighborhood towards the edge of the city, and the journey gives Hank's mind more than enough time to wander.

His relief at the fact that Connor's history with the vice team wasn't quite as bad as he expected is offset by the knowledge that it was still shitty. As far as he knows, he was the first person Connor slept with but so many aspects of Connor's attitude to sex begin to make more sense with the new information that he had spent months being dangled in front of a predator like a worm on a hook.

_"You know, if you want to back out now, I won't hold it against you," Hank says, only half-kidding as he emerges from the bathroom in his boxers._

_Connor is also already down to his underwear and Hank can't help but compare Connor's slim frame to his own. He knows it's dumb and that there's no real comparison -- he's human, north of 50, and too fond of burgers and booze while Connor is a top-of-the-line android who was built last year and literally doesn't eat -- but he can't help the pang of self-consciousness as Connor looks him over._

_The pang fades when Connor smiles._

_"Why would I want to back out?" he asks, like he legitimately can't fathom not wanting to go to bed with Hank._

_Hank sighs. He really does love Connor but he's an idiot sometimes._

_"Never mind. C'mere," he says, beckoning him closer._

_Connor comes happily, leaning up to meet Hank's lips in a kiss. This part of it is familiar and Hank wonders if Connor's clinging to that familiarity just as much as he is._

_Connor's hand slides down, over the hair on Hank's chest to dip beneath the waistband of his boxers, and he pulls back enough from the kiss to ask, "Can I...?"_

_Hank nods, holding his breath as Connor sinks down to his knees. His cock twitches in his pants, hardening already as Connor works his boxers down his thighs, and he closes his eyes in anticipation._

_His eyes fly open a second later when Connor takes him in his mouth._

_There's no preamble, no teasing or touching or hesitation, just Connor opening his mouth and taking Hank all the way to the base. His cock jerks in approval as he's overwhelmed by the sensation but Hank's brain is still functional enough to be confused rather than turned on when he looks down at Connor._

_Connor's on his knees, hands held behind his back. His lips are stretched wide around Hank's now-hard dick and Hank thinks he can see the bulge of it all the way down in Connor's throat. He's not breathing, not even blinking as he stares straight ahead with blank eyes, and even in his deviant hunter days, Hank doesn't think he's ever seen Connor look so much like a machine._

_It's a disquieting thought and Hank can't shake off the sense of unease long enough to continue._

_"Wait," he says, resting a hand on Connor's head and pulling out._

_Connor blinks, licking at the trails of saliva which gather on his lips, and looks up at Hank. "Did I do something wrong?"_

_"No," Hank says, leaning down to give him a kiss. "My knee's just stiff tonight. You okay with moving this over to the bed?"_

_Connor nods readily but hesitates, like he's not sure whether he should stand. Deciding that he fucking hates whoever programmed this creepy submissive shit into him, Hank helps him to his feet and gives him another kiss as a reward as he leads him towards the bed._

_"Just relax," Hank says. "We can take it slow but I want you to enjoy it too."_

_Connor's brow crinkles briefly. He gives him a nod that is so often accompanied by a polite 'yes, lieutenant' that Hank almost double-takes when he doesn't hear it. He sits back on the bed, coaxing Connor to settle astride his lap, and tugs him down for another kiss._

_Connor finally seems to relax, his tongue curling against Hank's and some of the tension leaving his posture, and Hank makes a mental note on the effectiveness of kissing._

_"You okay?" he asks quietly._

_Connor nods, looking far more like himself as he gives Hank a fond smile. "Yes. Thank you."_

Hank smacks his hand against the wheel in frustration. He should've seen it sooner, should've known that experience rather than programming made Connor react like that, and when he pulls up to the crime scene to see Connor waiting at the door, he resolves never to make the same mistake again.

"I thought you might've stayed with Lieutenant Kadis," Connor says as Hank parks up and heads out to join him. "You two seemed friendly."

"Didn't want to risk passing up a good case," Hank says with a shrug. "Did someone really remove his eyes?"

"Stabbed, not removed," Connor says, precise as always. "He's also been badly beaten and is missing his tongue."

Hank grimaces, steeling himself for an unpleasant crime scene, and follows Connor inside.

The grimy house doesn't disappoint. Blood splatters are painted across the walls, evidence of the brutal violence which took place inside, and Hank notes the evidence markers on the ground as he picks his way across the crime scene.

The body is laid out on the floor, more neatly than it would be if he'd fallen there after a fight. The corpse's arms are at its sides, like a doll packed in a box, and Hank ignores the way his stomach rolls as he peers down at the man's destroyed eye sockets. His face is a mess, the nose and jaw broken and blood covering almost every inch of skin, but Hank's attention is drawn to the bloodstains on the man's shirt.

There are no obvious wounds and nowhere near as much blood as on the man's face, and Hank crouches down, unbuttoning the man's shirt to investigate further. The discovery only raises more questions than answers, however, when he sees the letters I and X carved into the man's chest. "What the hell..."

"That is unusual," Connor says, blinking quickly in the way he does when he's searching for something. "I don't have records of any other crimes in the area with similar markings."

"Do we know who he is?" 

"His face is too badly damaged for a scan," Connor says, crouching by the body. 

Hank averts his eyes when Connor reaches out two fingers towards the nearest pool of blood and he waits for the response to come.

There's a longer pause than usual and Hank risks a glance through his fingers to see Connor looking down at the body with wide eyes. "Connor?"

"Sorry, Lieutenant," Connor says quickly. "Wallace Mitchell, 37. Works at a garage not far from here. He has prior convictions for assault and for possession and distribution of controlled substances."

"Huh. Red ice?"

"I expect so," Connor says, and Hank doesn't miss the way he's giving the body a wider berth than normal.

"Everything all right?" Hank asks at the same time as Connor says, "We should search the rest of the house."

"I'm fine," Connor says, smoothing down his tie. "I'll take the bedroom."

And then he's gone, leaving Hank standing over the corpse with a whole new Connor problem to untangle.  


+++

  
Connor should've recognised him sooner.

Even without the use of his identification software, he should have remembered the man's face. The house isn't familiar, the sight of Red Mitch with his eyes stabbed through isn't familiar, but everything else about him -- his height, his smell, his _hands_ \-- are stored firmly in Connor's memory banks for good.

Out of sight of the main room, he takes an unnecessarily deep breath and gives the bedroom a cursory scan. He picks up the old semen stains on the sheets and the guns in the closet, and then finally the red ice packed into the battered suitcases in the corner. 

His attention is firmly elsewhere though, even as his body goes through the motions, and his system brings up the identification notification again and again, a resounding criticism of his failures.

After all, what does it say about him that he couldn't even recognise the first man who fucked him?


	3. Chapter 3

There's nothing useful in the bedroom. The guns and red ice support the conclusion that Red Mitch was a dealer but Connor already knows that from the identification scan as well as from first-hand experience. 

There's no evidence of whoever did this to him, no blood splatters or indication that the killer came through this way, but Connor finds himself lingering anyway, reluctant to go back out and face Hank and the body. He roots through the lopsided drawers beside the bed, flipping through past-due bills until he reaches a tablet, and he reaches down to browse through its contents.

Images flit across his vision -- file names, bookmarks, emails, search history -- but they stutter to a halt when he reaches Mitch's stash of porn. Men feature prominently, both humans and androids, but his preferences clearly tend towards tall, slim men with dark hair. 

The significance of this isn't lost on Connor but as he closes down the ninth clip of a naked human being bent over a table, a memory of his own bleeds through to fill the gap.

_"Here you go," Mitch says, gesturing to the gym bag on the table. "All yours, my dude."_

_Powell nods in acknowledgement but doesn't budge from where he's standing by a work bench. "Connor."_

_Connor steps forward to pick up the gym bag. It's the correct weight, packed with bricks of red ice, and he opens the corner of one packet to touch two fingers of the product to his tongue._

_He steps back, conscious of Mitch's eyes on him as he does so, and looks over to Powell. "It's all there. Good strength."_

_Mitch raises his eyebrows. "Got yourself a connoisseur android there, Riggs?"_

_Powell smirks in response to his alias. "Something like that." He takes the bag from Connor and moves back to sit on a car hood, lighting a cigarette and waving a hand in Connor's direction. "Feel free to take a look."_

_Mitch doesn't hesitate. He's shorter than Connor, enough that Connor can see where his red hair is thinning out on top of his head, but he's stocky with wide shoulders and thick, dirty hands which come up to grip Connor's jaw._

_"Huh." Mitch tilts Connor's head to the side then slides his hand down to open the top button of his shirt. "It's pretty."_

_Powell chuckles. "So I've heard."_

_"Did you seriously program it to recognise red ice?"_

_"Me? No," Powell says, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "I'm not so great with electrics. It's part of its standard features. It has a whole bunch of neat shit."_

_"What model is it?" Mitch asks. "I don't recognise it."_

_"RK800, I think?" Powell says. "It's some kind of prototype."_

_Mitch eyes him with suspicion. "How the fuck did you get a prototype? You one of those CyberLife types?"_

_Powell laughs, gesturing to his split eyebrow and old broken nose. "Please. Do I look like the kind of guy who spend his time tinkering with circuit boards? I've got a friend in the disposal team who kicked this one my way. It's meant to be some kind of fancy assistant for rich pricks -- it does all kinds of weighing and searching and processing -- but this one flunked the control testing. Something about its rotary system?"_

_Mitch glances over at him. "You got a broken bot?"_

_Powell holds his arms out with a grin and says around his cigarette, "Hey, sometimes a busted prototype is better than most of the plastics on the market."_

_"Mmm." Mitch's hand slides down the front of Connor's shirt and Connor's lips part in surprise when Mitch cups him through his pants. "It's interesting, I'll give you that. Is it, uh, equipped?"_

_There's something in Powell's smirk which Connor can't quite read. He leans against the car hood like this is his garage rather than Mitch's, long legs crossed at the ankle and smoke curling from his cigarette, and Connor begins to question Powell's commitment to their mission._

_"What did you have in mind, Red? You looking to fuck or to get fucked?"_

_Mitch's gaze darts over to him, his cheeks reddening almost enough to match his hair._

_Powell's laugh is just the right side of mocking when he says, "Relax, man. I'm not going to hold it against you if you want to get yourself some android dick." He breathes out a ring of smoke. "Personally though? I'd recommend its ass."_

_Connor's eyes go wide as Mitch eyes him like he's prey. He looks to Powell for aid, bringing up the mission objectives and replaying Powell's earlier assurance to Detective Kadis of_ Don't worry, I'm not gonna actually let them fuck him _, but when Powell's pale, empty eyes lock onto his, Connor realises no aid is coming._

_Mitch licks his lips. "Yeah? Don't suppose you're willing to share with a new friend."_

_"Share? No," Powell says but Connor's relief is short-lived. "I could go for a trade though. How about another brick for a go on the android?"_

_Mitch narrows his eyes. "Half."_

_"Half a fuck? If you insist."_

_"Half a brick, dipshit," Mitch says, gaze lingering on Connor's body. "I don't even know if your android's any good."_

_"Then keep wondering, pal," Powell says, stubbing out his cigarette. "A full brick or no deal."_

_"Fuck, fine," Mitch grumbles. "Wait there."_

_Adjusting the front of his pants, he moves to a side room and Connor looks over to Powell, lost. "I thought you said-"_

_"I don't give a shit what you thought," Powell hisses, moving in close. "We need to get close to Calderon and this is our way. Now shut the fuck up and spread your legs like a good little android."_

_"But-"_

_The rest of Connor's question is cut off by the back of Powell's hand colliding with his cheek. He recoils, more from the impact than any kind of pain, and when he looks up again, he sees Mitch emerging from the side room with an extra brick of red ice in his hand and a grin on his face. "What's it done now?"_

_Powell steps back, straightening his leather jacket. "Nothing. Just making sure it shows you a good time." He winks at Mitch and, after pocketing the offered brick of red ice, moves back to his position on the hood. "Have at it."_

_Mitch hesitates, although Connor doesn't miss the bulge in the front of his pants and his increased heart rate. "You just gonna sit there?"_

_"And watch? Hell yeah I am," Powell says. "No offense, pal, but I'm not about to leave a fucking ice dealer alone with my flashy new prototype." His tone softens a little when he adds, "I wouldn't worry though. Unless you finish in under twenty seconds, I can guarantee I'll have seen worse."_

_Mitch adjusts the front of his pants, sizing up Connor as he approaches. "Does it need prep?"_

_"'Need' is kind of an overstatement," Powell says, icy eyes moving to Connor. "It doesn't slick itself up or anything but any damage should be able to be repaired if you wanna go in dry."_

_Mitch wrinkles his nose and shifts backward to rifle through a drawer in his desk. "I prefer my dick not being chafed raw, thanks."_

_He slips a bottle in his pocket and moves back over to Connor. His breath smells of beer when he leans in close and curls his hand around Connor's throat, sending his LED flaring yellow. "Bend over, slut."_

_Suppressing the inclination to lay Mitch out with a swift kick to the knee, Connor allows himself to be spun around to face the table. Mitch's broad body presses against his back, his greedy hands sliding down over the front of Connor's pants, and Connor knows his LED is shifting to red when Mitch unbuttons his pants and works them down past his ass. He's bare beneath them, thanks to an earlier instruction from Powell to get rid of his underwear, and he feels himself tensing up when he hears the opening of Mitch's zipper._

_"God, they really didn't spare any expense on this one, did they?" Mitch's words come out breathy, interspersed with the slick tug of his hand on his cock. "I need to get me one of your CyberLife friends."_

_"I'll hook you up," Powell says with a hint of amusement in his voice. "Next malfunctioning prototype is all yours."_

_"I knew you were a good one, Riggs," Mitch says and when he grips Connor's hip and pushes his way inside, Connor finds himself fixating on Powell's alias._

_Powell's name is Harvey Riggs, he reminds himself. They are working together to infiltrate a sector of the Detroit underworld which deals in red ice and androids in equal measure and to bring down Richard Calderon, who has thus far been untouchable. Powell's playing the part of a dealer working his way up and Connor is a prototype who is there to assist him._

_Mitch grunts behind him, pushing in harder and faster, and Connor amends his operating parameters. He is Powell's prototype who is there to be fucked on command in order for Powell to build trust._

_He's shoved down to the table, chin colliding with the scratched wood, and he turns off the notification suggesting he stand back up and get Mitch out of him. This is part of his mission now and he intends to be successful._

_Across the room, he hears the flick of a lighter as Powell moves onto his second cigarette. He tries to tune his olfactory sensors to focus on the smell of the smoke rather than the growing stink of Mitch's sweat as he grips Connor's hips harder, shoving him against the wood of the table as he slams into him again and again and again._

_"Fuck, he's tight," Mitch says approvingly. "Y'know, if you're willing to share, there are plenty of folk who'd take you up on the offer. Give you way more than a handful of red ice for the privilege too."_

_Connor stops his pretense of breathing, listening intently to Powell's response over the wet noise of Mitch's cock sliding in and out of his ass._

_"Yeah?" Powell asks. "And who might these generous folk be?"_

_"Good dudes," Mitch promises. "There's a club near the old railyard downtown. Obelisk. I'm sure the clientele would appreciate some new meat."_

_"If I wanted to take it to an android brothel, I'd just sell it to Eden Club," Powell points out. "What's so great about this club?"_

_Mitch groans, clearly distracted. "They've got these mods. Experimental shit to spice things up. Go ask for a guy called, ah, Wade. He'll hook you up."_

_"I'm not going to shove 'experimental shit' into my android," Powell says. "Present company obviously excluded."_

_"Fuck you," Mitch says without malice. "It's good product. Well tested. There's tame stuff like vibrations and electricity all the way up to adding full-on appendages. You should-" He grunts, giving Connor's ass a firm squeeze. "You should check it out."_

_Connor's system registers disapproval at the thought of extra appendages of any kind but he files the information away for later use._

_Powell doesn't seem to share his concern, however, as he says with sincerity, "Y'know, I think I just might do that. I've been meaning to test the limits on this machine for a while now."_

_Mitch's breathing grows shorter and heavier as he draws nearer to completion, and Connor hears him chuckle when he shoves in deeper. "Man, if it feels this good on factory settings, I'm always down to be a guinea pig if you want to run some customisations."_

_Powell laughs, not bothering to hide his disdain. "Let's see how well the ice sells before you start lining up a round two, buddy."_

_"Just sayin'." Mitch's attention seems elsewhere though and Connor stares down at the oil and coffee stains on the table as his grunts increase in intensity._

_It doesn't hurt, per se, but he can still register every inch of the intrusion and feel the pressure against his inner components with every thrust. He's had humans inside him before, hands and fingers and tools tinkering with his systems, but the sensation of being just a receptable rather than a finely tuned machine is something he's struggling to adjust to._

_Fortunately, he doesn't need to spend much longer trying to recalibrate. Mitch comes with a groan, holding firmly onto Connor's hips as he does so, and Connor dismisses the warning messages informing him precisely how much ejaculate is now inside him._

_The feeling is unpleasant, especially when Mitch pulls out to send come dripping out of Connor's body, but he stays face down on the table, keeping his legs spread and his ass raised until he's told to move._

_After all, if this is now going to be a integral part of his mission, he should make sure he does it well._

The memory slides away, slotted back into its proper chronology, and Connor straightens his tie four times as he refocuses on his current surroundings. His more recent sexual encounters are a dramatic improvement on those endured while working with the Vice team and while he isn't sure whether the credit should be attributed to his deviancy or to Hank, he can't help but be relieved that the situation with Mitch will never be repeated.

_Find Hank_

The notification is unnecessary as Connor is already gravitating in Hank's direction but the ping of a completed objective is reassuring nonetheless. 

Hank is crouched over the body, looking at something on Mitch's hands, and Connor offers up the information he found. "There is a substantial amount of red ice in the bedroom. He was almost certainly a dealer. Perhaps a deal went wrong?"

"Maybe," Hank says but sounds unconvinced. "There was no sign of a break-in -- the door wasn't forced, so he must've let whoever did it inside. And then there's the body."

"Clearly a message," Connor says, scanning down over the stabbed-through eyes and the carving on the victim's chest. "I'm not aware what it's attempting to convey though."

"Not just the message," Hank says. "Look at his hands. He's got some defensive wounds but not as many as I'd expect for what happened to him. He looks more like he got in a bar fight than he was fighting for his life."

"You think he was mutilated post mortem?"

"Maybe? Knocked out somehow then finished off with the..." Hank makes a stabbing motion and grimaces. "You didn't find any drugs in his blood?"

Connor recalls the analysis in the blink of an eye. "No. The sample is over three days old though. He's been dead for some time; a drug may not be traceable in a sample that degraded."

"Guess there are limits to what your tongue can do, after all," Hank says, straightening up with a chuckle. 

Connor sees his LED change color in the flat screen of the television. Hank's chuckle dies on his lips and Connor's stress levels jump twenty percent at the concern he sees on Hank's face.

"Shit," Hank says. "I didn't mean- I'm sorry. Bad timing."

Connor frowns. "Why would it be bad timing? You've previously commented on the capabilities of my tongue and so that seemed approp-"

"Cut it with the bullshit, Connor." Hank's interruption is sharp but there's no hostility in his voice. "Don't think I didn't notice your freak-out back at the courthouse. You think I'm that shitty of a detective that I don't know when my own partner's fucked up about something?"

Connor's stress levels move up past 80%. He should have known better; he knows how good Hank is at reading people and at reading him in particular; he should have hidden it better; he-

His thought processes come to a sudden stop at the feel of Hank's hands on his face. Hank is there, right up close in front of him, and his eyes are a soft blue as he offers Connor a reassuring smile. "You with me?"

Connor nods. It takes another moment for him to trust himself to speak. "Yes. I apologise."

Hank sighs, dropping his hands to his side. "You don't need to apologise, Connor. Kadis told me about what happened."

"What?" Conflicting instructions pop up in front of him -- _Admit the truth. Leave. Lie to Hank. Hug Hank._ \-- but he shuts them all down. "What do you mean?"

"She told me about the work you did on the Calderon case," Hank says patiently. "And about what they used you for."

Connor's diagnostic scan comes back clear, which does nothing to explain why Hank's voice suddenly seems so far away.

"What they used me for," he repeats.

"Yeah." There's an awkwardness in the way Hank is standing, like he wants to reach out to Connor but is holding back. Connor hates it. "Using you as a bait. Letting you be groped and leered at and god knows what else so that they could get to Calderon."

"Oh." 

As distasteful as he found working with Detective Powell, Connor is now immensely grateful for his ability to lie to his superiors. He knows what Hank is like; if he got a sanitised version of events from Lieutenant Kadis, then that's the only version she knows. 

"It's okay, Lieutenant. It was within the bounds of my programming and was part of my mission."

"Don't give me that mission bullshit," Hank says. "You may have been a fully fledged machine back then but you're you now and you've still got all that crap sitting in your memories." He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his beard. "Look, I don't want to push you into thinking about that stuff but if you are thinking about it, then tell me. I'm not just here to be a pretty face -- I can help."

Connor smiles at that. He's very fond of Hank's face.

"I know," he says honestly. "I should've told you sooner but I'm all right. I didn't particularly enjoy the mission and I most likely wouldn't choose to be put in that position again but it was a success." 

He remembers Mitch's body at his back, big hands pressing him down to the table and stiff cock pushing deep inside him, and he isn't sure whether he's telling Hank or himself when he says, "We got what we wanted and the detective and I both got out largely unharmed."

Hank makes a skeptical noise but leans in to press a kiss to Connor's forehead anyway. 

It's not the most appropriate venue -- they've talked before about remaining professional at work -- but it's enough of a comfort that Connor ignores the little indignant notification he receives and leans into Hank's touch instead.

It's short-lived, however, and Connor pulls back sharply at the sound of a mocking whistle from the doorway.

"Damn, sorry to interrupt."

Connor doesn't even need to turn around to identify the voice. 

Unfamiliar with the newcomer, Hank's expression darkens and he steps past Connor to intercept him. "Can I help you with something, officer-"

"Detective," the man corrects. Connor can hear the smug smile in his voice. "Detective Powell. You must be Anderson, right?"

Hank's voice is terse. "Yeah, that'd be me."

"Well, _Anderson_ ," Powell says, "I've just come from seeing the body of a Mr Wade across town. Missing his eyeballs, letters carved on his chest, body laid out like a fucking mummy -- all really weird shit. But then I hear about the exact same thing being found over here."

Connor turns around and those cold, familiar eyes are on him in an instant, even as Powell addresses Hank, "So I'm really hoping you can tell me what connects these two murders. Aside from the fact they both wanted to fuck your pet android, that is." 

Even with his attention fixed on Powell, Connor registers Hank's surprise. 

Powell stalks towards him. He's blocked by Hank before he can get within five feet of Connor but that doesn't seem to dull the venom in his voice as he says coldly, "Because right now? This really does not look good for you, plastic."


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey!"

Hank's voice is loud and indignant as he shoves himself fully in front of Connor. Connor blinks, now staring at the back of Hank's head rather than Powell's sneering face, and he steps back at the same time as Hank plants a hand on Powell's chest and pushes him away. 

"I don't know who the fuck you are," Hank snaps, "but if you show up at one of my crime scenes and talk to me and my partner like that again, we're going to have a problem, you understand me?"

Powell smirks and for the first time, Connor notices his split lip and the fading bruises around his eye. The cut on his eyebrow has healed, leaving a scar that's only visible because Connor's looking for it, but his knuckles are just as cracked and bloodied as they were all those months ago.

"You're defending the honor of an android?" Powell asks, moving into Hank's space. "Man, that's pathetic."

Hank's stress level tick up, hand clenching into a fist, and Connor steps forward to insert himself between them before any punches can be thrown. 

"That's enough," he says, holding a hand to each of their chests to keep them back. "Lieutenant, contact the DPD about the other murder. There's nothing in the records so it must have been recent. See if the lead detective on the case will let us inspect the other crime scene for similarities."

"Connor-" Hank starts but is cut off by Powell's interruption.

"That'd be Detective Reed," Powell says. "I'm sure he's waiting for your call."

Connor picks up Hank's mumble of _Shit_ under his breath. As much as Connor shares the sentiment, he has larger concerns than Gavin and he turns to face Hank as he says, "Talk to Detective Reed and get the address. I need to speak to Detective Powell alone for a couple of minutes."

"Alone?" Hank says in disbelief. "You're not going anywhere alone with this prick!"

Powell chuckles and Connor tamps down his flare of irritation. "Please, Lieutenant. We'll just be in the next room -- I'll call if there's trouble."

He's braced for another round of negotiation and so doesn't quite hide his surprise when Hank just nods in acquiescence. 

"Fine," Hank grumbles. "Make it fucking quick."

"Thank you," Connor says, squeezing his shoulder as he moves past Hank towards the bedroom. 

Powell follows and Connor glances back just in time to see him shoot Hank a cocky wink. Hank glares at him in response and Connor mouths an apology before he closes the bedroom door behind them. 

When he turns back around, Powell has a cigarette between his lips and his lighter raised.

"You shouldn't be smoking at a crime scene."

Powell raises his eyebrows, taken aback by the rebuke. "Excuse me?"

"I said you shouldn't be smoking," Connor repeats. "If you leave cigarette ash around, it could contaminate the evidence."

Powell purses his lips. "See, that's what I thought you said."

He moves just as quickly as Connor remembers, covering the distance between them in two long strides, and as he raises his arm to land a backhand against Connor's cheek, Connor's system fills in the rest of the movement with an old memory.

_Connor's head snaps to the side as Powell strikes him hard across the face. He brings a hand up to his jaw, making sure all plates are lined up as they should be, and wipes away the thirium from the cut in his lip opened up by Powell's ring._

_"Here's how this works, plastic," Powell says, "I give you an order and you follow it. You don't and..."_

_He feigns hitting him again but narrows his eyes when Connor doesn't flinch._

_"Strip," Powell orders._

_Connor tilts his head, looking at his new partner in confusion. "I don't think that's necessary-"_

_He's cut off by a punch to the gut and drops to one knee as Powell says, "See, I don't remember asking you a question. Strip. That's an order. Show me what I'm working with here."_

_Obedience wins out over efficiency and Connor complies, stripping out of his jacket, shirt and pants, and peeling off his socks and underwear to stand naked in front of Powell. He clasps his hands behind his back and faces forward, trying to ignore the discomfort of Powell's pale eyes raking over his body._

_Powell moves in closer, standing a few inches taller than Connor, and taps his temple sharply. "Yellow already? I didn't think android whores were supposed to have any problem with taking their clothes off."_

_"No, Detective," Connor says, tinkering with his programming as much as possible to control his reactions. "I apologise."_

_Powell lands a chastising slap to his cheek. "What did you call me?"_

_"Sir," Connor corrects._

_Powell hums and paces around him in a slow circle. He inspects him, cold hands running through Connor's hair, behind his ears, down his back, and Connor starts in surprise when he feels Powell's hands on his ass, parting his cheeks. "Sir-"_

_"Relax, idiot," Powell says, slapping his ass. "I'm not going to fuck you. God knows where you've been."_

_He walks back around to his front, lifting Connor's soft cock with the barrel of his gun. "Pretty decent. Not that I'm expecting you to get much use out of it but nice to see the DPD budget stretches to realistic robot dick."_

_There isn't a question there and so Connor doesn't respond. He feels something like relief at the confirmation that Powell doesn't wish to have sex with him but his stress levels creep upwards nonetheless. The mission is already at the very bounds of his programming and having to adjust for an unpredictable factor like Powell doesn't make it any easier to cope with._

_"Open," Powell orders, tapping Connor's cheek._

_He complies, opening his mouth wide as Powell pokes inside with his gun. It's more exploratory than sexual, forcing each of Connor's cheeks wide in turn as Powell looks at his teeth and tongue, but his processors still provide him with a detailed preconstruction of the catastrophic damage that would be done if Powell pulled the trigger at any given second._

_Nevertheless, Connor stays quiet. He isn't sure what Powell is checking for but he seems satisfied when he slips his gun back into his holster._

_"Get dressed," Powell says. "Lose the underwear, the jacket and those dumb fucking sock things. And untuck that shirt."_

_Connor obeys, pulling his clothes back on under Powell's scrutiny. He smoothes his shirt down and stands up straight, willing his LED to turn back to blue as he waits for the next order._

_Powell stalks close again, looking over the minutiae of Connor's skin and eyes and hair. There's something predatory about him, closer to the behavior Connor has seen in criminals rather than other cops, and Connor keeps still under his gaze to avoid antagonising him further._

_Powell's hand comes up to close around his jaw. His fingers dig in and an information box pops up in Connor's vision to inform him just how easily the detective could render him non-functional. The hand on his jaw seems to be for stability rather than punishment, however, as Powell reaches his other hand up to rake through Connor's hair._

_He fights the impulse to tidy it -- if Powell wants him dishevelled, that's his right -- and breathes out when Powell releases him with a sigh. "That'll do, I guess. Now let's go."_

_Powell takes a step back to pick up his car keys and grins as he gives Connor one final appraising look. "Hey, who knows? Do your best impression of an obedient slut and maybe you'll get through this in one piece."_

Back in Mitch's house, Powell's hand comes down hard but Connor catches his wrist before it lands. Powell does a double-take, trying to tug free, and Connor holds on for just a second before releasing him. 

"I'd advise against physical confrontation," Connor says. "I'm no longer assigned to you and I'm not required to follow your orders."

He calculates a 60% chance that Powell will try to hit him again anyway but the blow doesn't come as Powell opts for a different kind of retort. "Yeah, I see that. Guess the lieutenant is the one cracking the whip these days, huh?"

_The whip comes down, slicing through skin and plastic and wiring, and Connor can't even close his mouth to stifle his cry._

Connor knows his LED is yellow as he shakes off the memory but he doesn't bother trying to hide it; Powell has enough experience to know when he's flustered. "My relationship with Lieutenant Anderson is not your concern. I'm here to ask you about the case."

Powell steps back at that. His posture relaxes a little when he slides his cigarette back into its packet and holds his arms open. "I'm all ears."

"You said Wade was found dead. When was he killed?"

"Still waiting for the coroner to confirm but I'd guess a day or two. What about Mitchell?"

"Three days," Connor says. "So he was killed before Wade. And everything's the same there -- eyes, tongue, carving?"

"Wade looked less beat to shit than Mitch," Powell offers. "But yeah, otherwise they're fuckin' twins."

"We know they ran in the same circles," Connor says, scanning through his memory banks of the faces of all the people at the club. "There were dozens of people at Obelisk alone who knew them both. That doesn't help narrow it down."

"You know what does help narrow it down?" Powell says. "The fact that they were both stepping stones on our route to Calderon. That's a pretty fucking narrow path."

Connor can feel his processors sparking to life, drawing out dozens, hundreds of possibilities for how the crimes were accomplished. "You're suggesting Calderon is behind this? That he has an accomplice who is acting on his behalf?"

"Or a rival," Powell says. He sounds tired. "Or a deputy who's making a power grab now that Calderon's locked up. Or a dumb fucking loyalist who's trying to gain favor without Calderon even being involved. There are a clusterfuck of potential suspects here." 

His gaze becomes sharper as he looks at Connor. "Of course, there's always the prime suspect: the freshly deviant android who's out for revenge on the men who decided to get their dicks wet."

Connor's stress levels spike at the reminder but he keeps his tone even. "You don't really think I'm involved in this."

"Don't I? Most people who got fucked over like you did would be up for some payback. "

"I'm not a person," Connor says tightly. 

Powell chuckles. "Yeah, I'd noticed. No way we would've got clearance to whore you out if you were. Still, I thought you were all supposed to be full of feelings and shit now. Isn't that what your android leader is peddling?"

"We... have a deeper understanding once we become deviant," Connor says. "I would not take part in a similar mission again but I understand I can't change the past. I wouldn't want to _associate_ with Mitchell or Wade again but I certainly wouldn't try to kill them."

Powell shakes his head. "Still a fucking piece of work, aren't you? All right, let's say I buy that you didn't do it. What about your boyfriend out there?"

Connor frowns. "Hank? Why would he-"

"Oh, it's _Hank_ now," Powell taunts. "I saw how possessive he got when I mentioned them wanting to fuck you. You expect me to believe he was cool with a couple of scumbags taking a ride on his android?"

Connor presses his lips together. "He's a good man. He wouldn't kill someone just for that."

"Really?" Powell says in disbelief. He straightens the sleeves of his jacket and takes a step towards the door. "Huh. Maybe I should go ask him myself."

"No!"

It comes out louder than Connor intended and he grabs Powell's upper arm to stop him from leaving. The movement forces him off-balance for a moment and Powell takes advantage of it as he drives his shoulder into Connor's chest. 

Connor stumbles, releasing Powell's arm, and Powell is on him in an instant, driving him back to slam against the wall and grabbing his jacket to hold him in place.

They stare at each other for a long moment, Powell breathing hard and Connor's LED spinning red, before a knowing smile curves across Powell's face.

"He doesn't know, does he?"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about."

Powell slams him into the wall again, knocking his head back against the peeling wallpaper.

"Bullshit," he says and that smile is still there. "Anderson doesn't know about Mitchell or Wade or any of the rest of them. Does he even know about Calderon?"

Connor's jaw tightens and he stays silent. 

Powell laughs. "Holy shit. A whore and a liar. What a fucking catch."

Connor struggles, pushing again Powell's grip. "He doesn't need to know. That was before, back when I-" He hesitates, rephrases. "When I worked with Vice. Things are different now. What happened back then isn't relevant."

"How about we let Anderson be the judge of that?" Powell says. "A man has a right to know exactly what he's sticking his dick into, after all."

"No!" Connor snaps. 

He keeps his voice lower this time and shoves Powell off him with a surge of force. Powell staggers back, catching himself on the dresser, and Connor draws himself up to his full height. "This is not your decision to make. If it becomes relevant to the case, I will tell him myself but you will stay out of it."

"Yeah? Or what? You going to stab my eyes out if I don't?"

"No," Connor says, "I'm going to give Lieutenant Kadis a full briefing on what happened on the Calderon case. My memory banks contain significantly more detail than what's in your reports."

Powell steps in close. "You fucking snitch-"

"I suggest you keep quiet," Connor says, "and I will do the same."

"Fine," Powell says through gritted teeth. "Christ, I liked you better when you were a goddamn sexbot."

"I'm aware," Connor says placidly. "I assure you, once we solve this case, I will be very happy to never work with you again."

Powell makes a noise of frustration and exits the room, punching the wall as he leaves. Connor takes a moment to compose himself -- _systems stable // investigation progressing // Hank unaware_ \-- and then follows him out to where Hank is finishing his call with Gavin.

"-be there soon."

Ignoring Powell, Connor moves towards Hank as he pockets his phone. "Did he agree to let us see the crime scene?"

"He did," Hank says. "He's not happy about it but it's Reed, he's never happy about anything. Are we done here?"

"We're done," Connor says, answering on Powell's behalf. "Detective Powell will be in touch if there's anything else we need to know."

Powell gives a sarcastic little salute. 

Hank glowers, understandably suspicious, but Connor shepherds him to the door as he says, "I'll explain on the way."

"You'd better," Hank mutters, delving in his pocket for his keys. "Please also tell me why I shouldn't shoot him."

"Because you'll be arrested," Connor says patiently.

Hank looks over to where Powell is leaning against the doorframe, glaring at both of them, and he opens the car door with a sigh. "No jury would convict."  


+++

  
Connor's explanation on the ride over isn't quite what Hank was hoping for.

It's pretty much in line with what Hank guessed: the two victims were people Connor and Powell met while they were undercover on the Calderon case. 

Hank buys that, believes that the dead men were Calderon's associates and that Connor met them before but that's about as far as it goes. There's something else buried there, something Hank isn't entirely sure he wants to unearth, and even as he nods along with Connor's words, he's determined to get to the bottom of it.

Nevertheless, it stings a little, that even after all these months together Connor still feels he has to lie to him.

He doesn't do a good enough job of hiding how disgruntled he is with the half truths and as they pull to a stop outside the second victim's house, Connor glances at him with concern. "Is it everything all right, Lieutenant?"

His face is lit blue in the light from the squad car outside and his eyes seem darker than usual as he looks Hank over. Hank knows he's running some kind of scan -- stress levels, blood pressure, inebriation, god knows what else -- but his expression doesn't betray the results as he waits for Hank's response.

"Everything's fine," Hank says. He doesn't need to fake the yawn that follows. "Just tired and could do without more asshole cops on this case. Reed already fills that quota."

Connor hums. "Powell is not the ideal detective to be partnered with."

"No shit," Hank says and then pries gently at the opening. "I can't believe he'd suggest that you were behind this."

"I don't think he really believes it," Connor says. "Besides, it would be easy to disprove. He just seems to enjoy riling people up."

"Piece of shit," Hank grouses. "How long were you two working together for?"

"Almost a month," Connor says, climbing out of the car, "but I much prefer working with you."

"Well, good." Hank follows him up the stairs to where a couple of officers are stationed outside the victim's apartment. "I'd be worried if I couldn't even beat Detective Prick back there."

Connor smiles at the name and Hank gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as they arrive at the apartment. Connor may not be telling him the whole truth but Hank can still try to make him feel better about the situation.

The door is ajar and, conscious of the late hour, Hank keeps his voice low as he sticks his head inside and calls, "Reed? You here?"

The answer is muffled but he soon sees Reed come jogging out from the far room, half a bagel in his hand and the rest apparently in his mouth. "Hmgh."

"Evening to you too," Hank says.

Connor follows him in and frowns at Reed. "You shouldn't be eating at a crime scene. You could contaminate the evidence."

"I mnoh-" Reed starts, then pauses and gives Connor the finger while he chews the rest of his mouthful. "I know that, dipshit. CSI came through here hours ago -- there's nothing left for me to contaminate."

"What are you still doing here if CSI cleared the place?" Hank asks.

Reed grins. "Detecting. The guy's got a whole heap of shit here and most of it doesn't look legal."

"What kind of shit are we talking?" Hank asks. "Drugs?"

Reed takes another bite of his bagel and beckons them through to the back room of the apartment.

The body is the first thing Hank notices -- or rather the bloodstained gap on the floor where the body was, before it was hauled off by the coroner. Some photos have helpfully been left behind and Hank thumbs through them with interest. 

The corpse had been laid out on the floor just like Mitchell's and mutilated in the same way, eyes stabbed through, tongue cut out and 'IX' carved on its chest. However, while Mitchell looked like his face had been pummelled with a meat tenderizer, Wade's face is uninjured, save for the damage to the eyes and the tongue.

"Was he drugged?"

Reed shrugs. "Don't know. Still waiting for the blood results."

"How else would they get him to lie so still when they killed him?" Connor says, peering over Hank's shoulder at the pictures and following the same train of thought. "There don't seem to be any restraints or defensive wounds."

"Caught him asleep maybe?" Reed offers. "One quick screwdriver to the eye and he wouldn't have been putting up much more of a fight."

"Is that the murder weapon?" Connor asks while Hank winces at the thought. "A screwdriver?"

"It's the top contender, yeah. Coroner said a knife would've been too wide to cause that kind of damage. And before you ask, no, we haven't found it yet."

"Did you-"

"Listen," Reed cuts in, "I know we're technically homicide but has it somehow escaped your attention that we're standing in a fucking Santa's grotto of crime here?" 

He holds his arms out, gesturing at the room around them, and Hank really takes it in for the first time.

"Damn."

"Damn is right," Reed says, looking more excited than Hank's ever seen him (for an occasion which doesn't involve alcohol). 

He points to each section of the room in turn as he gives them the guided tour. "We've got murder, drugs, porn, some paperwork which'll probably prove tax evasion or some shit, and then the weird electronic crap over there." He wrinkles his nose. "I don't really know what that does. Hacking maybe? Does anyone mine for bitcoin anymore?"

"They're modification devices," Connor says, peering at the desk covered with wires and circuit boards. "They adjust the functions of machines in different ways."

"Machines," Reed repeats. "You mean androids?"

"Some of these do seem tailored to androids, yes," Connor says, poking through the components. "This one, for example, adds a storage compartment to android chest cavities which can be used to store drugs. These two are designed to simulate pain and drowsiness respectively in androids, and some of these others attempt to add or modify certain subfunctions."

From the smirk on Reed's face, he's drawing the same conclusions as Hank about what the modifications are used for. 

"We should start with the drugs," Hank says, turning away from the electronics. "If this guy got them from Mitchell, that'll give us something to tie the two murders together."

"You do that," Reed says. "Personally? I'm going to start here."

He tosses something in Hank's direction but Connor's hand shoots out to grab it before it hits Hank's chest. It looks like a business card, deep black in color with silver print on the front, and Hank cranes his neck to read it. "Obelisk?"

"It's a some kind of club," Reed says. "Downtown by the railyard. The dead guy owned it. If we found all this in his apartment, I can't wait to see what we find in his office tomorrow." He grins. "I bet once we run the blacklight over it, the stains will be visible from space."

Hank grimaces. "Nice."

"Good thing I wasn't inviting you along then," Reed says. "If I turn up anything linked to the murder, I'll let you know. Otherwise I'll leave you two to figure out who our killer is."

He shoves another chunk of bagel in his mouth as he goes over to inspect the 'tax evasion' side of the room and Connor steps forward. "Wait. I should go with you to the club."

Hank can't decide who looks more surprised by the offer, him or Reed.

"What?" Reed asks at the same time as Hank says, "Connor, you don't-"

"One of us should be there, Lieutenant," Connor says. "There may be evidence relating to this murder or to the other victim which Detective Reed may not identify."

Reed scowls around his bagel. "Hey-"

"I'm familiar with both victims from my previous case," Connor continues. "I would be best placed to locate any pertinent evidence."

Hank stares at him for a long moment. Being quiet and evasive about a previous case is one thing but voluntarily offering to work with Reed is a new and troubling development.

"I can come with you," Hank offers. "Rumor has it I'm a pretty decent detective too."

"I know," Connor says, "which is why I think you should speak with Detective Powell tomorrow."

"Powell?!"

"He may know more about potential suspects than he's aware of. It would be helpful to have fresh eyes on the case and I think he's likely to be more forthcoming with you than with me."

Hank's first instinct to ask what the hell is wrong with him but he bites back the question, all too aware that Reed is still spectating. Connor's face is open and sincere but there's the faintest hint of yellow in his LED as he looks up at Hank for his response.

"All right," Hank says and Connor blinks in surprise. "You go with Reed tomorrow and I'll meet Powell at the station. The sooner we get to the bottom of this the better, right?"

"I- Yes," Connor says. He attempts a smile. "Thank you."

"Do I not get a say in this?" Reed asks.

"No," Hank says flatly.

"This is my case!"

"And Connor will be helping you with it tomorrow morning," Hank says. "I'll arrange to meet Powell at the station to go over the Calderon details."

"And I'll meet you at Obelisk at 9am," Connor says to Reed. "I hope we can work together successfully for a short period."

Reed glares at them both and chomps down on his bagel. It's presumably intended to be menacing but it mostly reminds Hank of the school hamster from when he was a kid. 

"Glad that's agreed," Hank says with more cheerfulness than he feels. He pats Connor on the arm and makes a move for the door. "Have a good evening, Reed. Enjoy the bagel."

He smiles to himself as Reed's garbled curse follows him out and he heads out to the car with Connor right behind him. 

As if the rest of the day wasn't enough of a clue, the silence from Connor in place of the usual crime chatter indicates that something is still very wrong. 

Hank opts not to push, yawning again as he starts the car. He notes the steady yellow pulse of the LED in the darkness with concern and leans in to give Connor a kiss on the temple. "You ready to head home?"

Connor nods. "Hopefully we can make more progress with the investigation tomorrow. Obelisk is a good lead and Powell may be able to tell you something useful."

"I'm sure he will." 

They settle into a more comfortable silence as Hank pulls out onto the road to drive home. Things still aren't right with Connor but Hank is reassured that at least he has a plan of action to fix it. 

He's done a fair amount of interrogation in his day and while he's had limited success with Kadis and Connor, he's confident he can get the actual truth out of Powell tomorrow. 

Scumbags are always easier to crack than honest cops.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Reed shows up to Obelisk an hour later than agreed, Connor and Officer Vaikar have already worked their way through all the pet pictures they have to hand and have moved on to discussing the strangest things their pets have eaten. (Counterfeit bearer bonds for Vaikar's cat, Ferdinand, and a model gingerbread house for Sumo.) 

Connor's just describing how the house's Hansel and Gretel met their grisly end when Reed climbs out of his car, coffee in one hand and keys in the other, and calls, "Good fucking morning to you too."

"Good morning, Detective," Connor says, giving Vaikar a nod of acknowledgement as he follows Reed to the door. "Officer Vaikar and I were making conversation while we waited for you to arrive. She was telling me about her cat."

"Shocker," Reed mutters. "I don't know which is worse, Vaikar and her homicidal cat or you and Anderson's idiot mutt."

Connor frowns. "Sumo is very intelligent. He's just remarkably lazy. Last weekend he-"

"Ugh, enough." Reed yawns. "It's bad enough I'm working with an android; I don't need one that talks about dogs for hours. Let's go find some crime."

The club is set back from the street, a lone doorway in a bustle of rundown stores and vans offering cheap takeout. The first wooden door is battered and opens easily when Reed slots the key into place, revealing a well-decorated hallway leading to some carpeted stairs.

"Huh," Reed says. "Wasn't expecting that."

He flips the key in his hand and heads up the stairs, a couple of officers trailing behind. Connor moves to follow but he feels an odd tightness in his limbs as he takes the familiar path up the steps.

_"Nearly showtime," Powell says under his breath. "You clear on the plan this time, plastic, or are you gonna whine some more about doing your job?"_

_"I'm clear," Connor says. "We raise our profile with the patrons in order to ingratiate ourselves with Wade and anyone else who might know Calderon."_

_Powell laughs. "'Raise our profile'? I guess that's one way to put it. I'd go for 'parade your plastic ass around until Calderon decides he wants to fuck it' but either works."_

_Connor keeps his expression blank but knows his LED is bleeding yellow at the comments. It's not a surprise that he's going to be used for sex again -- Powell made that very clear after their first encounter with Mitch -- and while he's guided by his mission parameters, the unpredictability of human attitudes to sex is a concern._

_"How many-" he starts, and then rephrases, "How long do you think it will take for us to get the attention of someone close to Calderon?"_

_"Depends how good that ass is," Powell says. "I'm expecting some high quality cocksucking in there. Let me down and I'll station you in Eden Club for a couple of days to get some real practice."_

_A tremor runs through Connor's components at the thought and he shuts down the error message. He's a machine and he has a mission. Being used sexually by humans is no different to conducting negotiations or analysing evidence or pursuing a suspect; it's all part of his programming._

_"I'll do my part," Connor says. "We'll get to Calderon."_

_"Glad to hear it, plastic," Powell says, amused. "Now let's go show off the merchandise."_

"You coming?"

Connor blinks back to the present to see Reed waiting at the top of the stairs. The club door is now unlocked but rather than the usual bustling darkness inside, it's brightly lit and empty. Refocusing on the task at hand -- _inspect the premises // find evidence // identify the killer_ \-- Connor follows Reed up to the doors.

He made three separate visits to the club with Powell as they worked their way towards Calderon and as he walks through the main room of the club, he tries to ignore the flood of memories which his system provides.

The bar is stationed on left of the club with tables and some booths scattered around the walls near it. There's no dance floor as such -- Obelisk was more geared towards performance and talking rather than partying -- but there's an open area towards the center of the main room for anyone who wanted an audience.

_The device digs into his neck, sharp metal claws piercing down into the plates of Connor's spine, but with his hands cuffed above his head, there's nothing he can do to lessen the discomfort as Wade paces around him, playing to the gathered crowd._

_"You ever felt pain before, kid?"_

_Connor's LED is bright red, has been for hours now. "No, sir."_

_Wade grins. He's tall, would've been handsome a few years ago, but now that he's the wrong side of forty, the cracks are beginning to show. His tanned skin is leathery, the result of too much exposure to the sun, his belly strains at his shirt buttons, and his dark eyes are cold and cruel._

_"This doesn't replicate real pain," Wade explains to the cluster of men watching them, tapping the device at the base of Connor's skull as he does so. "Not like humans feel it, although we've got prototypes coming which get closer to that. This one's quick and dirty but just the right thing for when you want to put an android in its place." His smile widens. "Or if you just like hearing them scream."_

_Across the gaggle of men, Connor's gaze finds Powell. His face is lit by the glow of his cigarette and he watches silently as Connor fights the urge to tug on his restraints._

_Wade grips Connor's jaw and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. "Let me know how this feels."_

_He touches a small metal baton to Connor's chest and the world dissolves into screeching static._

_He's felt discomfort before, broken parts and plating out of alignment, but this feeling, this_ pain _, is new and awful. Electricity courses through his body, sparking from the baton against his chest to the device clamped to his neck and burning through every one of his circuits on the way._

_Error messages flash urgently in front of his eyes, blurring against the crackle filling his vision, but he can't dismiss them when all his systems are focused on one instruction._

__Make it stop. Make It Stop. MAKE IT STOP. __

_He screams, struggling uselessly against the cuffs and kicking out in a blind attempt to get the baton away from him and to make the electricity stop._

_His foot connects with something and the pain stops as suddenly as it started. Connor drops hard, sagging in his restraints as he gasps for breath in a desperate attempt to cool himself down. His breathing is ragged, his circuits taking too long to find the right rhythm, and his legs shake beneath him as his motor functions slowly come back online._

_The hand is on his jaw again and he blinks away the lingering warnings when his head is forced up to face Wade._

_Wade's off-balance, putting more weight on his right leg, and Connor realises where his panicked kick landed as Wade snarls, "Watch where you're putting those feet, kid."_

_He kicks his legs in return, knocking Connor off his feet. His weight catches on his wrists for an instant, sending echoes of pain spiralling down through his arms and shoulders, before Connor manages to get his legs back underneath him._

_"I'm s-sorry," he stammers, vocal modulator glitching on the second word. "Sir."_

_"Secure his ankles," Wade orders and an android wearing the uniform of the club steps forward to fasten cuffs around Connor's ankles too, looping the chain through a ring in the floor. There's a 94% probability they're going to hurt him again and he looks over to Powell in desperation._

_Powell doesn't move, doesn't even seem to have stopped smoking his cigarette as he watches Connor be tied down._

_"He's lovely when he's screaming," a man says next to Wade._

_Even without his identification software, Connor recognises him as Hess, one of the possible targets flagged as a way to get them closer to Calderon, and he latches onto the discovery with relief._

_Just like being used by Mitch, this may not be an experience he was prepared for but it's accomplishing what it needs to. He has information on sadism -- he knows that Hess and Wade and the majority of the people watching him are stimulated by the sight of him in pain -- and so if him being hurt can successfully progress the mission, then that's an acceptable course of action._

_His operating parameters expand and adjust to this new conclusion and when Wade lowers the baton to his skin again, he hopes they finds his screams just as pleasing the second time around._

"Looks normal." 

Reed sounds disappointed as he stands up from behind the bar. "Kind of quiet for a club but nothing criminal." He waves to the officers. "Go check out the back. Find the dead guy's office and see if there's anything useful in storage. And run the security footage past Inspector Gadget here once he's stopped staring into space."

Connor catches himself, stepping away from the hooks in the ceiling and floor to scan the rest of the club. The memories associated with the rest of the space are more of the same, _hands, boots, collars, pain_ and he pushes them away to follow Officer Vaikar towards the rooms at the back of the club.

These are familiar as well, particularly from their last visit to Obelisk, but Connor shuts down the flares of memory as soon as they arise.

The other officers take a left towards the storage closet and the plush back room that Wade used for _entertaining_ but Connor stays to the right with Vaikar as she unlocks the small security room.

It's cramped and empty, with one lone chair in front of a bank of monitors showing footage from the cameras around the club. The servers whirr in the corner, lights flickering blue and green, and Connor looks around at the scattered fast food wrapping and empty cups on the desk.

It makes sense that Wade would appoint a human security guard. Androids are better at the job by their nature but in a place where people often look the other way, having everything recorded in perpetuity in an android's data banks would be less than ideal. 

"God, this place stinks," Vaikar says, toeing at some lint-covered fries on the floor. "I'm surprised they even have security cameras in a place like this."

"They aren't comprehensive," Connor says, looking over the monitors. There are cameras on the door, the entry staircase, and a handful of the back hallways, but the activities in the club itself and in Wade's back rooms aren't captured by the system. "We should be able to track people coming and going but not much of what they do here."

Vaikar sighs. "Guess it's better than nothing. Are you okay to do your thing with the servers while I go check out the rest of the rooms?"

"Of course," Connor says with a nod. 

Vaikar exits quickly, exhaling with relief when she gets out into the fresh(er) air of the hallway, and Connor waits for the door to close behind her before he moves over to the server. The technology is old enough that CyberLife has stopped issuing software updates and he closes down the upgrade reminders as he reaches out a hand to integrate with the stored footage.

It takes him less than a minute to scan and categorise all recent footage. He recognises a number of staff -- the bartenders, the janitors, the cloakroom android -- and also a number of clients, including Mitch and Hess. He traces the paths of those two in particular, tracking their movements into the club and the number of times they dipped in and out of Wade's back rooms. 

He sees Mitch enter carrying gym bags full of red ice and exit empty handed. He sees Hess and Wade and other men leading androids to the backroom and emerging hours later, the androids' LEDs lit bright red. He sees Wade wink at the camera from just outside the door of his private room as a kneeling android opens their mouth for use.

The footage stutters and Connor takes a breath to calm himself before dipping back in.

After a string of assaults a few years ago, laws were passed to force businesses to keep security footage for a minimum of a year. Ignoring the ping of his system telling him to stay on track, Connor winds his way back ten months to his last visit to Obelisk with Powell.

There's limited footage, thankfully, but what there is tells enough of a story. 

He sees himself walking up the stairs with Powell and then, an hour later, being led into the back room, now accompanied by Wade, Hess, and two other men.

The cameras don't pick up sound but Connor remembers it anyway, their laughter and easy conversation as they moved somewhere more private. Hess' expression is predatory as he looks Connor up and down from behind and Wade gropes Connor's ass through his slacks and gives a satisfied report to a smirking Powell.

They close the door behind them and Connor tries very hard not to think about everything that happened in the intervening hours. 

A blunt reminder comes when the door opens again and the past version of himself stumbles out, helped by a shove from Wade. He couldn't categorise the feeling of discomfort at the time but seeing it play out again, he feels humiliation wash over him at the memory.

He's down to his underwear, a tight pair of black briefs more suited to the Traci models. The skin around his neck and wrists is faded, the pressure of the recently-removed restraints revealing the grey plating beneath, and he walks with a limp towards the bar. 

His hair is a mess and while the camera doesn't pick up more than a glint, Connor can remember just how much saliva and ejaculate is caked onto his face and neck.

The writing, on the other hand, is very visible. 

He'd been sent out to retrieve more drinks for the group but his voice modulator had cracked due to vigorous use of his throat, leaving him mute for hours. Hess' solution was readily embraced by the group: write their drinks orders in thick black marker on Connor's torso for him to present to the bartender.

He plays the short clip over and over again, trying to recall how he felt about it back then, before deviancy, before Hank. His face is blank in the footage and while his LED is yellow, he doesn't show any signs of embarrassment or unease at being used as a walking billboard, even as shame curls in Connor's chest at the sight of himself.

The next clip is slightly different. He looks mostly the same, returning to the door of Wade's back room with a tray of drinks in his hand, but the writing on his chest is smudged from the greedy hands that grabbed him by the bar. 

The scrap of fabric covering him is askew and Connor watches himself hesitate in front of the door.

There's no question of turning back -- the impenetrable red wall behind him won't be breached for months yet -- but he stops moving forward, staring ahead at the wood of the door. His arm is jittering, glasses and beer bottles clinking together, and Connor watches the hitching of his own breath and the frantic red spinning of the LED as he prepares himself to go inside.

He disappears into the room a moment later, like the hesitation never happened, and when he re-emerges at the end of the night, he's fully dressed, accompanied by Powell and making a quick exit.

The footage is brief, a tiny extract of the events from that evening, but it would be enough for Hank or Reed to piece together. Fresh humiliation burns through him at the thought of Hank seeing him like that and Connor wipes the recordings without a second's hesitation. 

There's enough evidence on the tape to show Wade's recent associates and possible suspects. The details of what happened to Connor aren't relevant to the investigation.

He's taken by surprise by the shout of triumph from Reed in the next room. He exits out of the footage and, stepping over the fries on the floor, leaves the security room to investigate the source of the excitement.

"I fucking knew it," Reed's saying from inside the back room, and Connor enters to see him rifling through a cabinet. "Look at this shit. Red ice, coke, gambling records..."

"Anything related to his murder?" Connor asks.

Reed shrugs. "Just that I bet there's a fuckload of people who wanted to kill him." He turns to Vaikar. "We should get all this back to the station. Have them check it for prints and haul in anyone who's even a partial match. Fowler better give me that fucking raise after this."

From a quick scan, Connor doesn't spot anything that could tip Reed off about his previous experiences at Obelisk. He didn't bleed (much) here and it was so long ago that they're unlikely to find any evidence of his presence.

Calming a fraction at that conclusion, he goes to inspect Wade's desk but stops at the ping of a notification in the upper left corner of his vision. Reed's phone chimes at the same time and Connor waits for the expected cursing.

Reed doesn't disappoint.

"Motherfucker." Reed slams his hand on the top of the cabinet in frustration. "There's been another fucking murder."  


+++

  
Hank does not like Powell.

Kadis' description of him, their interactions at the crime scene, and the way he spoke to Connor all add up to a picture of an asshole who is way too comfortable being undercover with fellow assholes. Unfortunately, given the number of fights Powell looks like he's been in, Hank doubts he's going to get anything useful out of him by expressing that dislike.

And so he goes for option B: pretend to be an asshole too.

He starts out with some professionalism, getting them both a coffee, showing Powell to a conference room and running through his history on the Calderon case to genuinely try to pick up any clues. Hank keeps himself distant but not hostile and as the morning wears on, he starts to feign a smile and a laugh at Powell's off-color cracks about the case and about androids.

They take a break mid-morning when Powell pulls out a cigarette and gestures to the window. "You mind?"

Hank shakes his head, leaning back in his chair. "Go ahead. The smoke detectors are a bitch in here though so I'd keep it outside as much as you can."

Powell follows the suggestion, lighting the cigarette by the open window and letting the smoke rise up behind the glass. "Thanks for the heads up."

"No problem," Hank says. "You know, I feel like I should apologise for getting off on the wrong foot last night but you were kind of a prick too so I don't think I'm going to."

Powell laughs at that, breathing smoke out into the spring air. "That's fair, man. I can't say I'm great at keeping my cool, especially when your damn android is being a pain in the ass."

"That's androids for you," Hank says with a shrug. "Annoying little fuckers sometimes but they have their uses."

He can feel Powell's eyes on him, assessing, but he doesn't look up from his coffee as Powell says, "Yeah, I feel that. Must blow for you to be stuck with one full time now though. One case was way more than enough for me."

He's testing the water and Hank treads carefully, trying to work out how much Powell knows about him and Connor. "Took me a while to get used to it," he says honestly. "I was ready to throttle him the first time we worked together. Hell, I nearly put a bullet in his fucking head one night."

"Yeah?" Powell looks over with interest. "What stopped you? Aside from the cost, obviously."

Hank weighs his options and decides to take a gamble. "I, uh, found some better uses for him."

The implication is there and one piece of the trap slots into place when Powell laughs. "Nice. I gotta say, you two looked pretty cozy back there. You actually dating an android?"

There's a layer of scorn in his voice which Hank mirrors. "Dating? Fuck no. I don't think I've done anything which could be classed as dating since before I married my ex-wife. Connor's just good for letting off some steam sometimes."

Powell raises his eyebrows, suspicious but not mistrustful yet. "That's all it is? You seemed pretty protective of something you're just using to let off steam."

Hank picks one of the slimiest pimps he ever had the misfortune of interrogating and does his best to channel that level of unpleasantness when he says, "If Connor thinks it's something more than that, I'm not about to correct him -- it's been damn useful having a machine in my corner sometimes, and not just because he never says no. That doesn't mean that I'm looking to share though -- I'd get just as protective if someone tried to use my damn toothbrush."

That draws a genuine chuckle from Powell. "Okay, yeah, I take your point. You know where it's been in the past though, right?"

"What do you mean?" Hank asks with feigned innocence. "Kadis just said he'd been used to look the part."

Powell's expression falters and Hank drops the innocent act with a grin. "I'm just fucking with you. I've been around long enough to know some shit never makes it into the reports."

Powell relaxes instantly and he blows out a puff of smoke as he shakes his head. "Jesus, Anderson, you scared me for a second there. Far as I know, Kadis still thinks the android's virgin ground."

Hank bites his tongue. It's the closest he's gotten to an actual confirmation so far that what happened to Connor went beyond just harassment but there's more there to uncover.

"She's a smart lady," Hank says honestly. "I bet she has a decent idea what really went on but she's happy to stick to the party line. It got her that promotion after all."

He stands, walking over to join Powell by the window, and gestures to the pack of cigarettes. Powell offers him one and lights it for him as he grumbles, "Of course she gets the recognition off the back of it. I'm the one who had to whore out the plastic for the month and then fucking Kadis reaps the rewards. Least I made some decent money out of it."

"From the ice?"

"From the bot," Powell corrects. "That club they're checking out? There's decent cash to be made there if you've got an android which takes cock as well as that one does."

Fury flares up in Hank's chest but he masks it as best he can. "You ever have a go yourself?"

"What, on the android?" Powell shakes his head. "Not my type. And not just because I prefer women -- I'm not down with fucking a machine. No offense."

Hank's smile is brittle when he replies, "None taken. I guess other people were more willing to indulge?"

Powell's tongue darts out to touch his split lip as he nods. "Oh, yeah. Couldn't keep those assholes away from it."

"Calderon?"

"Him I'm less sure of," Powell admits. "That night was a clusterfuck -- he took the android off somewhere and I'm not sure if Calderon fucked it or just fucked it up. The two dead guys though, Mitch and Wade, they definitely had a ride. Wade especially. Wow." 

He whistles, almost sounding impressed. Hank wants to snap his fucking neck.

Hank breathes smoke out through the window, pulling in a deep breath of cold air as he does so, and tries to ask without cringing, "Any recommendations? I still don't really know just how far I can push him."

"Pretty fucking far if you ask me." 

There's a smile on his lips as he leans in and Hank feels nauseous. He's lied convincingly, he's set the trap, and he's about to get to the answers which Connor has been hiding from him, but part of him wishes he'd never started digging.

"Mitch was standard," Powell says. "A quick fuck over a table for a brick of red ice, just to test the waters. Wade was the one who really started to stretch its limits. They had these mod things at his club -- like implants that you stick onto androids to create different effects. They can make them act like they're sleepy or scared or even like one of those Eden sexbot types."

Not trusting himself to speak, Hank just makes an interested noise.

"They used one on your boy that simulated pain somehow," Powell continues. "I don't know how it worked but Wade had it tied up in the middle of the club and kept touching it with this stick and Christ, it was like they were electrocuting it. I know androids are built to be durable but man, from the amount of screaming it did, I'm pretty sure that would've killed a real person."

"I'll pass on that one," Hank says tightly. "I'm not that into pain."

"There were some milder ones too," Powell says. "For spanking and shit, I guess, but that one..." He takes a drag on his cigarette and smiles. "Science is the future, right?"

"Did Wade fuck him like that?" Hank asks. "Can't imagine that was a fun experience."

Powell laughs. "No, even Wade wasn't dumb enough to stick his dick in the android version of a plug socket. He was more traditional when it came to fucking. That was actually the last time we were at Obelisk, before we moved on up to Hess and Calderon."

"Going out with a bang?"

"And a gang one at that," Powell says with a grin. "I'll be honest, that was the only time I was tempted to have a go myself. There was a poker game in the back room -- me, Wade, Hess and a couple of other guys. Wade tied up the android, put it under the table, and then they passed it around like a bowl of snacks. Even had a belt around its neck to pull it from cock to cock." 

He laughs again, remembering, "I think it was Hess that broke some chip in its throat? The thing that lets it talk. If you're looking for recommendations, that'd definitely be mine. Tie its hands out of the way, put it on mute, and let it stay on the floor sucking dick all night. Technology at its finest."

He gives Hank a wink but the smile fades from Powell's lips when Hank can't do anything but stare back at him, horrified.

He'd guessed Connor was used for sex, guessed that he'd been raped by at least one of the men involved in the case, but he hadn't expected anything quite like this. 

His mind jumps back to Connor's reaction to Kadis, the frantic flash of his LED when Powell showed up at the crime scene, the empty look in his eyes the first time he got down on his knees for Hank. He wants to vomit.

"Anderson?" Powell frowns, lowering the cigarette. "Hey, you with me?"

Hank blinks, looking afresh at Powell's pale eyes, bloodied knuckles and split lip. The line of his nose is slightly off-center from an old break and there's a thin scar running through his eyebrow. 

Rationally he knows he should keep pushing, find out what happened at the hands of Hess and Calderon so that he has all the information necessary to help Connor through this, but the sound of the blood rushing in his ears drowns out all sensible thoughts. 

"Yeah," Hank says. His hands curl into fists even as he forces a tight smile. "Yeah, I'm with you."

Powell hesitates, like he's trying to interpret Hank's reaction through the filter of the prick he's been pretending to be all morning. The conclusion he reaches is the wrong one and Powell relaxes, taking another drag on his cigarette as he says, smirking, "It's a nice image, ri-"

He doesn't get to finish the sentence before Hank breaks his fucking nose.


	6. Chapter 6

The crunch of knuckles against cartilage is a sound Hank hasn't heard in a while. 

He's glad he's not on the receiving end this time as he watches Powell stagger backwards, catching himself on the wall to stay upright. Blood drips from his nose and his teeth are stained red as he spits out a mouthful onto the floor.

"What the hell, man? What the fuck was that for?"

His words are slurred but the fury in his eyes is bright and clear. 

Hank stands up straight, unmoving but not aggressive as he says coldly, "You know what it was for."

Powell frowns, then winces sharply as the movement pulls at his nose. "Christ-" He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. "Is this about that fucking android? Did you just break my goddamn nose over a fucking piece of plastic?"

"His name's Connor," Hank says.

It comes as no surprise when Powell takes a swing at him. He dodges out of the way but isn't quick enough to avoid the following punch to his gut. The force of it brings him to his knees, coughing sharply, and he looks up just in time to see Powell's fist collide with his temple.

Pain ricochets through his skull, sparks flashing behind his eyelids, but he rallies quickly. In his younger days, he would've gone for a kick to Powell's legs but as it stands, he settles for an answering fist to Powell's stomach. 

It's a solid hit and Powell also drops to one knee, gasping for breath. 

"I don't-" He coughs. "I don't give a fuck what its name is," Powell spits. "It's a goddamn machine."

"Y'know," Hank says, pushing himself to his feet with a groan, "I'd hate to have to break your jaw too."

"Fuck you," Powell says. He staggers to his feet as Hank watches him warily but some of the fight seems to have gone out of him. "God, you lying piece of shit."

"Like you have room to talk," Hank says. He pokes tentatively at the area on his temple where Powell's punch landed and winces at the contact.

Powell pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stem the bleeding. "I didn't touch it! I wasn't lying about that."

"After all you just told me, you really think I'm worried about whether you touched him or not?" 

Hank doesn't try to conceal his anger anymore as he says, furious, "You did more than enough damage to him but congrats on not being one of the men who actually raped him, I guess."

"Raped him?" Powell's laugh is short and bitter. "It's a machine! How the fuck can you rape a piece of plastic?"

"Based on what you said? Pretty fucking thoroughly," Hank retorts. "Hell, a guy was sentenced last week for trying to have sex with an android without her consent."

"That was part of the android revolution bullshit," Powell says. "When we were working the Calderon case, everyone knew consent meant jackshit with androids." He shakes his head. "But hell, even if you're applying those standards, we'd still be in the clear. It knew what was going to happen to it and it went in with its eyes wide open." 

Nausea rolls in Hank's stomach. He knows Connor well enough to guess at how he would've handled the Calderon case; just like when he got shoved around by Hank and Reed back before they knew better, Connor would've defaulted to enduring, obeying and focusing on the mission. 

It's an unpleasant contrast to the happy, enthusiastic Connor he shares a bed with and Hank can't hide his disgust at the thought.

"You don't like that answer, do you?" Powell pushes. "It might act all sweet and innocent around you but it -- _Connor_ \-- came right along for the ride. Whatever the targets wanted, it did. Wade wanted his cock sucked and it did it like a pro. Hess liked seeing people in pain and it cried like a sadist's wet dream. Calderon wanted a fresh new victim and it offered itself up like a lamb to the slaughter."

He moves up, stepping into Hank's space. "You want to talk about consent, Anderson? It might be having second thoughts now that it's grown feelings but your boy sure as shit consented." He grins through bloodstained teeth. "I even remember it begging for more sometimes."

Hank clenches his fists. "You son of a-"

"What, don't like hearing the truth?" Powell cuts in and Hank grits his teeth as Powell keeps his voice low. "Be honest, Anderson. You don't give a shit what your android agreed to. You only care because you're finding out that you're getting someone's sloppy seconds." He smirks. "Or sloppy twenty-seconds in this case."

"You want me to knock some of your teeth out?" Hank says with forced lightness. "Or maybe I should take this up with Kadis and the captain? Make sure they're both on board with how you use police resources in an investigation?"

Powell steps back at that, shaking his head. "Is there something in the fucking water in homicide that turns you all into goddamn snitches?"

Hank raises his eyebrows and Powell explains, "I got the same shit from your _partner_ last night. Keep quiet about what happened or he goes running to mommy. Fucking pathetic."

Hank ignores the jibe. "You got a strange way of keeping quiet, detective."

"Because you fucking tricked me! I thought you-"

"Were a piece of shit too?" Hank clicks his tongue against his teeth. "Sorry to disappoint."

"You do a damn good impression of one," Powell says. "Give it six months and I bet you'll be itching to put that android through its paces for real."

Hank's mind jumps back to Connor on his knees for him, dead-eyed and compliant. He remembers Connor greeting him as he got home from work, already slicked up and ready to bend over the table at a snap of Hank's fingers, and he remembers the way Connor flinched when Hank first raised his hand too quickly, like he was expecting a blow.

He suddenly feels very supportive of whoever has been helping these assholes meet a grisly end.

"Unlikely," Hank says. "I prefer sleeping with people who actually enjoy what's happening."

Powell sneers at him but winces again at the renewed pain in his nose. "So what happens now? You gonna rat me out to Kadis?"

"Maybe," Hank says honestly, "but I'll leave that up to Connor to decide. In the meantime, you need to stay the hell away from him."

"The case-"

"The case is the only reason I haven't put a bullet in you right here," Hank says flatly. "That and the fact that I hate filling in those forms about discharging a firearm on duty. I want to catch the asshole who's going around killing people and if you know anything that can help with that, then great, but Connor's safety is a hell of a lot higher on my priority list at the minute."

Powell scowls. "You're expecting me to just sit this out? The killings are connected to the Calderon case -- _my_ case! I should be involved!"

"And you can be. From your desk."

"Bullshit! I'm the one who got you involved! I'm not being cut out of this just because your precious fucking android is having second thoughts about spreading its legs for half the city-"

He's cut off with a grunt of pain when Hank grabs him by the shirt and slams him back against the wall. For a second, he sees a memory of Connor in Powell's place, big brown eyes wide and surprised as Hank shoved him against the wall by his desk, but it slips away as he stares into Powell's pale eyes.

"Here's how this is going to work," Hank says, "Connor and I are going to work this case, because that's our job. One of us will contact you if we need your input but otherwise you aren't going to come anyway near this case or either one of us again. You so much as look in Connor's direction and I can guarantee that Kadis finding out everything will be the best thing that'll happen to you. You understand me?"

"Fuck y-"

Hank slams him against the wall again. "What was that?"

"Fuck you," Powell spits. "I understand."

"Good." Hank releases him and steps back, wiping his hands on his pants. "Maybe go and get that nose checked out. I'd hate for it to stay like that."

Powell glares at him but both their phones chime in unison before he can respond. Half-expecting a punch, Hank steps back out of Powell's reach to check his messages and his heart sinks a little when he reads it. 

"Another body," Powell says. "Guess it was only a matter of time before they got to Hess."

"You said that name earlier," Hank says. "Hess was one of the people who was at Obelisk with Connor, right?"

"Oh, you want my input already?" Powell says sarcastically. "Yeah, Hess was _acquainted_ with Connor. You think maybe you should be looking closer to home if you wanna solve this?"

Hank doesn't bother to hide his laugh. "You don't really expect me to believe Connor did this?"

Powell shrugs. "Sounds like Connor's done a lot of things you wouldn't expect. Maybe murder's on the list."

Hank rolls his eyes. "Nice try." He gathers up his notebook and phone, moving towards the door as he says, "Stay here, get your face fixed, learn to breathe through your nose again. I'll call if we need your valuable insight."

He just catches Powell's response of "Eat shit, Anderson" before the door swings shut behind him.  


+++

  
Hank spends most of the drive to Hess' house trying to work out what to say to Connor, with limited success.

As pleased as he is to have got the information he wanted out of Powell, the satisfaction is overriden by the knowledge that he fucked up, that Connor was actively trying to keep this from him and that Hank had no business prying. 

He doubts Connor would ever have told him the truth -- for an android who's frequently blunt about speaking his mind, he's damn good at repressing things -- but while he hopes it'll help in the long run, the potential for short term damage is high.

A lot more things make sense now and as he pulls off into Hess' neighborhood, his mind fills in some of the blanks from another of his past encounters involving Connor and sex.

_"I always wondered why CyberLife gave you human feet."_

_Sprawled on his stomach in their bed, Connor glances over his shoulder to where Hank is inspecting the underside of his very human-looking foot. "What other kind of feet should they have given me?"_

_"I don't know, some kind of upgrade maybe?" Hank says. "I just always thought feet were sort of weird-looking. Figured maybe they'd give you mini jetpacks or something instead."_

_Connor frowns as he regards his feet afresh. "I don't think I'd want jetpacks for feet. I thought I was supposed to blend in with humans -- I didn't realise my feet looked weird."_

_"Not_ your _feet," Hank corrects quickly. Bending Connor's leg at the knee, he plants a light kiss on the sole of his foot. "Yours are as good as any feet could be. They're just weird-looking in general. On all humans."_

_"Oh," Connor says and Hank knows he's filing away that information, probably in a folder called 'Lieutenant Anderson's views on feet' or something equally comprehensive. "I don't have an opinion on them."_

_Hank grins, climbing onto the bed and running a hand up Connor's bare thigh to give his ass a squeeze. "Should I ask what body parts you do have an opinion on?"_

_Connor's smiling as he rolls over, naked and looking very content to be half-blanketed by Hank's body. "Your arms," he says, smoothing his hands down over Hank's biceps, "and your hands, your chest, your hair, your face-"_

_Hank laughs. "So most of me, then?" He lowers himself to his elbow and lets his beard tickle across Connor's skin as he kisses the center of his chest. "I'm hoping they're good opinions."_

_"They're extremely positive," Connor admits._

_He rests one hand on his chest, threading the fingers of the other through Hank's hair as Hank kisses his way down Connor's torso to where his cock is hardening between his legs._

_Connor's grip tightens as he gets closer and Hank pauses, raising his head to see the telltale yellow flicker of the LED. "You okay?"_

_"Yes, I-" Connor licks his lips, flattening his other hand against his chest like he's smoothing down his tie. "That isn't necessary."_

_"What, you don't want to form an opinion on my mouth?"_

_It's said teasingly, trying to lighten the mood, but doesn't seem to have the intended effect when Connor's LED continues to spin yellow._

_"You just- You don't need to do that," Connor says. " I know I have the pleasure program installed but it doesn't require any oral stimulation."_

_Hank blinks. They haven't done this before and somehow it hadn't occurred to him that it would be an issue. "Oh. Would it not feel good?"_

_"No, I'm certain it would," Connor says. "The program is designed to respond positively to that kind of stimulation."_

_"Then what's the problem?"_

_"I- It wouldn't be something I'd expect of you," Connor says, lifting his hand from Hank's hair. "There would be no benefit in it for you."_

_Hank's eyebrows shoot up. "I'd say making you feel good is a pretty decent benefit."_

_He strokes a thumb over the plates that make up the line of Connor's hipbones, slow and soothing. "Look, I'm not going to do anything you don't want but trust me, this is definitely something I'm happy to do. I know that trip to the Eden Club was messed up but things don't always need to be one way between humans and androids."_

_He'd honestly thought that was a given but from the way Connor tilts his head, it seems like new information. Hank moves up, away from his cock, to give him a kiss on the lips and finds himself relaxing when Connor's LED goes back to blue. "Everything all right?"_

_"Yes," Connor says. "Apologies."_

_Hank kisses him again, firmly. "No need to apologize." He dips down to kiss his neck, smiling at the way Connor seems torn between baring his throat for more kisses and nuzzling against the scratch of Hank's beard. "What's the verdict? You want to give it a shot?"_

_Connor hesitates, catching his lip between his teeth in a way that makes Hank glad they're already in bed together._

_"Yes," Connor says eventually. "I'd like to try it."_

_"I can stop whenever you want to."_

_"I know."_

_"I don't want to force you into anything."_

_"I know."_

_"We can-"_

_"Hank," Connor interrupts, sliding his hand through Hank's hair again. "I know. I'd like to try it."_

_He gets that determined look on his face, like when he catches Hank eating a second donut or when there's some evidence at a crime scene that he really wants to lick, but it's tempered with a small smile. "I'd like to form an opinion on your mouth."_

Connor's opinion ended up being uniformly positive but that doesn't help Hank's sense of lingering unease. He should've known better, should've interpreted Connor's surprise at being on the receiving end as something more than a quirk of inexperience, and he has no idea how to make it right months after the fact.

Reed's car is at Hess' house when Hank pulls up outside. He nods to the officer as he steps through the crime scene barrier and peers past the half-open door as he calls, "Connor? You here?"

"Lieutenant!" Connor's head appears from a door at the top of the stairs and some of the tension that was building since he left Powell ebbs away at the sight of him. 

Even with all the shit he went through, Connor's still alive and (mostly) well and Hank is going to be there to help him with the rest of it. 

"Another body?"

"Just like the last," Connor says. He frowns when Hank closes the door behind him. "Where's Detective Powell?"

"Something came up at the station," Hank lies. "He told me this vic was part of the Calderon case too though."

Connor nods. "We have a pattern now. Hess was killed after the first two -- the killer seems to be working in the same order that Powell and I were."

_"Sounds like Connor's done a lot of things you wouldn't expect. Maybe murder's on the list."_

Powell's words echo in his ears but Hank ignores them as he takes the stairs two at a time. The carpet is plush beneath his shoes and he looks around at the foyer, taking in the elaborate chandelier hanging above the reception and the wood carvings on the railings. 

"Nice place. What's this guy do?"

"Some kind of artist." 

It's Reed answering rather than Connor and Hank looks over as he emerges from a room across the hallway. There's no bagel today, not at a fresh crime scene, but he's chewing on some gum in its absence. "Not exactly the starving type though."

"He was a photographer," Connor says. "Apparently his work was widely published."

Reed makes a noise of skepticism. "Didn't realize there was a big art demand from brothels."

At Hank's confusion, he gestures down the hallway to where some large prints hang on the wall. It takes Hank a moment to interpret them but when he does, his heart sinks. 

They're artsy shots, as far as he can tell, but the contents -- hands, bodies, rope, leather, collars -- present some unsettling conclusions about the victim's interests and the context in which he may have previously met Connor.

"Fetish shit? You think that has anything to do with why he was killed?"

"Beats me," Reed says with a shrug. "He wasn't found, like, hogtied, so I'm guessing not. Dude's gotta have a fucking weird stash of porn somewhere though -- that's gonna be an adventure."

"Maybe there are some clues at his studio?" Connor suggests. "I couldn't see anywhere in the house where he would've worked."

Hank nods. "We should check it out later. Let me go look at the body first."

"Knock yourself out," Reed says, waving to the room down the hallway. "I'm going to check out the study."

Hank follows Connor inside but doesn't make it far beyond the door before Connor leans in to inspect his face. "What happened? You're injured."

"Ah." Hank puts a hand to the swelling on his temple. "Smacked my head on the shelves at work. That'll teach me to be greedy about looking for the good pens."

Connor purses his lips. "It looks painful."

"I'm fine," Hank promises, batting Connor's hands away. "Which is more than I can say for this guy."

He nods to the body on the floor. It looks much the same as the previous one -- mutilated and laid out -- and he doesn't miss the way Connor gives it a wide berth. "You know him?"

Connor nods. "He was one of the men we dealt with as part of the case. He was able to get us an invitation to the party where we finally managed to arrest Calderon."

"I'm guessing he was a scumbag?" 

Connor blinks in confusion, LED flickering, and Hank covers, "Just a guess. From what Powell said, their deaths aren't exactly a big loss for humanity."

"They didn't deserve to die," Connor says, and Hank doesn't know whether it sounds unconvincing or whether it's just his imagination. "But yes, they were all involved in criminal activity." His change of subject is quick and non-negotiable. "We had limited success at the club."

Hank schools his face into a neutral expression as Connor talks through his morning's investigations. He nods along at the discoveries at the club and Connor's suggestions of who the future targets might be but his thoughts constantly stray back to what he'd learned from Powell about what Connor went through at that club and at the hands of the victims.

If he's honest, he's glad they're dead.

He's considering how to raise the topic of what really happened on the Calderon case when he's caught off-guard by a direct question from Connor. "Did you get anywhere with Detective Powell? Did he know anything helpful to the case?"

"I don't know that I'd call it helpful," Hank says, opting for part-truth over more lies. "It seemed pretty important though."

"Oh?" Connor perks up at that and Hank hates himself a little more. "What did he say? I know it's likely that someone connected to Calderon is responsible but did he have any idea as to who it could be or what they wanted?"

"That wasn't really his area," Hank says vaguely. "It was more about the first couple of victims. About, uh, some of the things he saw them do while he was on the case."

Connor's LED jumps straight from blue to red for a millisecond but his expression stays calm. "You mean the drugs? I know they were both red ice users."

"No, not the drugs." The words feel heavy in Hank's mouth, like his tongue is too slow to shape them into the right sentence. "It was more about you."

The red flash lasts longer this time. "Me? What did he-"

"Anderson!"

Hank jumps at Reed's shout from downstairs and yells back, "Not fuckin' now, Reed!"

Connor is still staring at him, confused and suspicious, but Reed cuts in again before Hank can pick up where they left off. "Yes fuckin' now! You want to see this."

With a frustrated sigh, Hank holds a hand up to Connor. "Just stay here, okay? I'll be right back; we need to talk."

Connor doesn't argue and Hank doesn't wait for more of a response as he hurries out of the room and down the stairs. "This better be some fucking groundbreaking detective work, Reed."

"It's groundbreaking something," Reed calls. "In here."

Hank follows the sound of his voice past the living area to a back room. From the books on the shelves and stacks of paper by the door, it's an office of some kind and he pushes the door open to see Reed sitting in front of a computer screen. 

There's a video file playing but from the noises alone, its contents are unmistakeable.

"Christ, really?" Hank says. "You called me down here just because you found the guy's porn stash?"

Reed looks over his shoulder and just nods towards the screen. The lack of lewd comments itself is odd and Hank moves further into the room to get a better look at the video. "What-"

The sentence comes to a screeching halt. The person on screen, lovingly captured in high res detail, is Connor. His Connor. 

Hank is fairly sure he's stopped breathing as he watches Connor flinch away from a man's touch. He's on his knees, bound and gagged and collared, and any one of those things would be enough for Hank to want to add another stab wound to Hess' corpse but his attention is caught by the crack of the whip which comes down across Connor's shoulders. 

Connor flinches at the impact, unable to stifle his cries past the gag which is keeping his mouth open, and Hank's stomach lurches when he realizes that Connor is in pain, that someone screwed with his programming just to make sure this would hurt him.

"You want this to stop?" a voice from off-camera says. 

From where Connor's looking, it seems to belong to the man wielding the whip and Hank watches numbly as Connor nods in desperation. 

The whip comes down again and he sobs. 

"Where are your manners?" the man asks. 

Connor's response is muffled by the gag but the message is clear enough.

_Please. Please stop._

The man chuckles. "Well, since you asked so nicely..."

There's a clink of a belt buckle followed by the snick of the man's jeans being unzipped and Hank looks back to Reed in horror as the gag that's pulled out of Connor's mouth is immediately replaced by something worse.

"What the hell, Reed?"

"Don't shoot the goddamn messenger. I'm just the one who found it," Reed says, eyes still fixed on the screen. "Looks like there's more to this case than we thought."

"Christ." Hank scrubs a hand over his mouth. "Jesus fucking Christ." 

His mind is spinning and it takes him a second to pin down even a rudimentary course of action. "Just turn it off, asshole. Anyone could walk in here."

He glances over his shoulder to the door as he speaks, conscious of the number of cops in and around the house, but his half-formed plans to keep this quiet crumble to dust when he sees the figure standing frozen in the doorway to the office.

"Connor..."


	7. Chapter 7

_"If someone sees-"_

_"No-one's going to fucking see," Powell mutters. His hand is cold against the back of Connor's neck, and Connor flinches when Powell's nails dig into the wounds left by the last modification Wade attached to him. "Well, no-one except Calderon."_

_Connor knows his LED is firmly amber but can't seem to force it back to blue. "But Detective Kadis-"_

_"Isn't going to see a thing," Powell says. "Your little audition tape is going straight to Calderon and I really doubt he stores his porn anywhere the cops would ever be able to access it."_

_Powell marches him forward as he speaks and despite the red wall following behind him, Connor tries to slow his pace a fraction. "But Hess-"_

_Powell's fist slams against his regulator before he can finish his sentence. He learned that trick a couple of weeks ago, learned just where to punch to send panicked errors sparking through Connor's system, and Connor doubles over at the impact as he scrambles to close down the warnings._

_His right hand goes to his chest, reassuring himself that the regulator is still intact, but Powell grips his wrist. Still off-balance from the punch, Connor can't free himself in time as Powell wrenches his arm up and backwards, twisting it sharply behind his back._

_It doesn't hurt, not in the same way he was hurt at the club, but his processor lights up at the threat to Connor's structural integrity and he's presented with urgent options to limit the extent of any damage._

__Negotiate. Fight. Beg. __

_"Y'know, I honestly thought you'd learned not to talk back to me by now," Powell says. He sounds almost disappointed and Connor's system obligingly registers that as failure. "But since you need a reminder, let me break it down real simple for you, plastic."_

_"You-"_

_Connor is cut off with a cry when Powell shifts his arm upwards, bringing his shoulder plates within 14% of breaking. His processors inform him that if he fights, there's less than a 10% chance of getting out of this position without severe physical damage._

_He's unable to reach a conclusion on whether that would make him more appealing to Calderon or less._

_Powell's other hand curls around Connor's throat and Connor goes still and pliant in his grip as Powell counts off, "Step one: you go in that room, you let Hess fuck you up however he wants, and you look real pretty for the camera. Step two: Calderon sees the tape, decides he wants a piece of that android ass, and invites us to his dumb party. Step three: I gather a shitload of evidence at that party, get a commendation, maybe a raise. Step four: I never have to see your fucking face again."_

_His hand tightens around Connor's neck. "Got it? Or do I need to have someone put you on mute again?"_

_Connor shakes his head as much as Powell's grip allows. "Got it." His shoulder is 7% away from breaking. "Please..."_

_He has more questions, of course --_ how do we know Calderon will see the tape? how do we know he'll take the bait? (what is Hess going to do to me?) _\-- but he's required to prioritise. The afternoon is going to be rigorous enough without adding physical injury and an angry Powell to his mission parameters._

_Apparently satisfied, Powell releases him. Connor drops to his knees, curling his arm against his chest and waiting for the warnings to subside, but he doesn't get more than a few seconds of respite before Powell grabs him by the back of the neck and hauls him upright._

_The door at the end of the hallway opens as they press forward but Connor can't see more than a glimpse of the set-up inside._

_Hess is standing in the doorway, thin lips twisted in a smirk, and despite Powell's warning, Connor can't stop his LED from sliding red when he sees the thick collar dangling from Hess' fingers._

"Turn it the fuck off. Now."

There's an urgency in the voice. Lost in the replayed memory, Connor responds out of habit, forcing his LED back from red to blue, but blinks at the sound of a second voice.

"Okay, okay, I'm turning-" The voice cuts off abruptly, then says a moment later. "Shit."

The sound of grunting fills the room and Connor watches Hess' dick push deep into his throat. The screen cuts to black a moment later but Connor's memory fills in the missing footage with ease.

_The friction of Hess' hair brushing against his chin, Hess' sweat-damp hands grabbing at Connor's hair to force him deeper, the sound and smell and taste of him-_

"I, uh- I didn't know you'd been kidnapped."

Connor blinks. The memories retract and he looks to where Reed and Hank are both staring at him. Disgust is written all over Hank's face and Connor tries to ignore the wave of shame and grief which swamps him as he focuses instead on Reed.

Oddly, Reed's usual callousness seems to be replaced by concern when he continues, "Or, uh, blackmailed or something."

Connor frowns, confused. "Blackmail?"

"I, uh, don't know how you blackmail an android," Reed stammers, waving his hand in the direction of the screen. "But there's no way that wasn't under duress, right?"

Things start to make sense. It's almost flattering that Reed thinks Connor would need to be forced into that situation but he can't let the misapprehension stand. 

"There was no duress," he says. "It was part of a case."

Reed's eyebrows shoot up. "A case? So that wasn't you getting-"

"I was a willing participant," Connor says quickly. "I apologise that you had to see it; I wasn't aware there was a copy in the house."

Reed looks between Hank and Connor in stunned disbelief. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Hank's voice is tired but firm when he cuts in. "Reed, that's enough."

Reed's gaze snaps in Hank's direction. "You knew about this? Is this one of your fucking cases?"

Connor's stress levels are hovering around the 85% mark as Hank replies, "Of course it's not my fucking case! It's just- It's complicated."

_Hank knows._

The realization goes through Connor like a blade. Hank looked disgusted, yes, but that could just be down to seeing the hard evidence of what exactly he's been taking to his bed for months. He looks exhausted as he squares off with Reed but there's none of the shock Connor would have expected if this had been completely new information to him.

The realization goes through Connor like a blade. Hank looked disgusted, yes, but that could just be down to seeing the hard evidence of what exactly he's been taking to his bed for months. He looks exhausted as he squares off with Reed but there's none of the shock Connor would have expected if this had been completely new information to him.

_How long has Hank known?_

"Complicated?" Reed repeats. "How goddamn complicated can it be? I know I haven't worked here as long as you but I've never seen anyone needing to star in fuckin' android fetish porn as part of the job!"

"Reed, shut the hell up."

"I knew you two were acting fucking weird lately," Reed continues, now in full flow. "Showing up at my crime scene, involving that prick from Vice, insisting on coming with me to that club, and now this shit? What the hell is going on here?"

Hank straightens up, like he's preparing to defend Connor's non-existent honor. 

Connor wants to shut down and never restart. 

"It's confidential," Hank says, in full Lieutenant Anderson mode. "The case is sensitive and we aren't authorised to-"

"Bullshit," Reed retorts. "It stopped being confidential when your partner here just admitted he got fucked on the clock." He takes a half-step back, looking Connor up and down with a sneer. "Hell, maybe this isn't even a case. Maybe this is just what he does for fun."

It's a reasonable comment but Connor sees Hank's hands close into fists. "Reed..."

"It makes more sense than that 'case' bullshit," Reed says. "Maybe he gets his rocks off by volunteering to be a sexbot. Maybe he fuckin' _wants_ to take cock on camera every chance he gets!"

"I didn't want any of it!"

The words are out before Connor even realises he's spoken.

It's not incorrect -- before he deviated, he didn't want or like anything -- and he clings to that technicality as he tries to get his thoughts in order.

He takes a step back towards the door, straightening his tie as he stammers, "I- I misspoke. The case was a long time ago; I didn't have any opinions on the tasks which were assigned as part of my mission. Lieutenant Anderson was not involved." 

His LED stays bright red but he manages to keep his voice calm. "If you have concerns about professional misconduct on my part, please raise them through the appropriate channels." The thought is unpleasant, having his failings laid out before a disciplinary board on his permanent record, but it's no worse than what he deserves. "I should finish my inspection of the rest of the crime scene. I apologise again for any discomfort caused."

Connor lowers his head in contrition and makes a quick exit from the room, just catching Reed's murmur of "Fuck..." as he goes.

He can't bring himself to look at Hank.  


+++

  
The taxi is 17 seconds away when Hank finds him.

Connor isn't technically hiding -- there could be evidence along the side of the house -- but he's glad to be out of sight of the rest of the officers as he watches the road for his escape route. 

The memories play over and over in his head -- the smack of the whip, the snick of the zipper, the wet thrust of a cock being shoved down his throat -- and he's so busy trying to shut them down that the sound of Hank's voice catches him by surprise.

"Don't tell me you're running out on me."

Connor honestly hadn't expected him to follow. From his time on the Calderon case, his programming recognises two basic reactions from humans who saw him in that kind of situation: arousal, like Wade and Hess, or disgust, like Powell. Based on what he knows of Hank's preferences, arousal is extremely unlikely and he tries to brace for Hank to sneer at him or hit him the way Powell did.

"I- I was just inspecting the rest of the crime scene," Connor lies. "I thought the killer may have exited through the back of the house."

He hears the electric whirr of the taxi pulling up on the road outside the house. From the way Hank's gaze moves over his shoulder, he's seen it too. 

"Sure," Hank says, rounding the corner of the house to join him. "Just inspecting, huh?"

Connor doesn't meet his eyes. He grips his coin, trying to relieve some of the tension as he waits for the axe to fall, and says, "I thought it would be better if I went back to the station. I expect Detective Reed would prefer not to work with me."

"Reed would prefer not to work with anyone," Hank says with a small smile. "But he's sorry about what he said back there."

Connor raises an eyebrow and Hank amends, "Okay, so maybe he didn't say it in as many words but the sentiment was there. He shouldn't have said what he did and he knows it."

Connor straightens his tie. "He was correct. What happened was unprofessional and inappropriate."

Hank takes another couple of steps closer and Connor can't read his tone when he asks, "What did happen?"

"The recording was of an encounter between myself and Vincent Hess," Connor says. It feels like something inside him is unspooling as he talks but after what Hank's seen, there's no use in lying further. "He acted as a scout of sorts for Calderon. By integrating ourselves with him and participating in the recording, I attracted Calderon's attention and gained access to him in order to complete my mission."

He keeps his words sparse and precise as he answers Hank's question, "Hess and Calderon enjoyed-" _pain and humiliation_ "sado-masochistic interactions with androids. Hess particularly enjoyed filming these encounters so I agreed to participate."

Hank doesn't hide his discomfort well. 

It isn't unexpected but Connor stumbles over his next words anyway in the face of Hank's disapproval. "He made use of my mouth, as you saw. He, uh-" _beat me and fucked me_ "-acted on some of his other desires, also on camera, and then provided a copy to Calderon."

_"Beautiful," Hess murmurs._

_He runs his thumb through a streak of come on Connor's cheek, smearing it over the skin and smiling when Connor flinches. He grabs his hair to force him to look into the dark glass of the camera lens and whispers in his ear, "Look pretty for our friend. Let him see what a good time we've had."_

_Connor gasps as his head is pulled back further and recoils in surprise when Hess spits in his face. The gag is shoved back in his mouth before he can speak and Hess walks out of frame, leaving him bound, filthy and alone before the impassive gaze of the camera._

_Connor reminds himself that the tears building in his eyes are just there for Calderon's benefit._

He blinks away a fresh swell of tears -- just a system echo, nothing new -- and risks a glance over at Hank. He looks horrified, just as he did at the recording itself, and Connor steels himself for the inevitable. 

At least it was good while it lasted.

"Christ, Connor..."

"I'm sorry," Connor says. "I should have told you sooner." 

Powell's voice plays on repeat. _A man has a right to know what he's sticking his dick into._

"You had a right to know."

"I didn't," Hank says bluntly. 

Connor frowns and Hank clarifies, "I had no goddamn right to know any of this. Unfortunately, you got stuck with an asshole for a partner."

Connor tilts his head, lost. "Reed?"

"Me," Hank says with a heavy sigh. "I knew you were keeping something secret and I was worried about you so I went behind your back. I talked to Powell this morning."

The pieces start to fall into place but Connor's body goes cold at the thought of just how much Powell knows about him. "You talked to Powell."

"He told me what happened to you," Hank says. "Or some of it at least."

The taxi is 14.3 metres away. Connor could scale the gate and get there in 7.9 seconds at most but his feet won't move.

"How much- What did he tell you?"

Hank shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. "He told me about the first guy, that red ice dealer, and he told me what happened to you at the second guy's club."

_The belt pulls tight around Connor's throat as he's hauled across the dirty floor. Without his hands to catch himself, he tips forward to collide with a man's thigh and gets a kick to the ribs in return._

"Oh."

He keeps his eyes averted, staring at the creases in Hank's jacket and trying to work out where to go from here, whether a police department in a different city would employ him, whether Sumo will miss him. "I-"

"Connor, I'm so fucking sorry."

Connor's head snaps up. He thinks for a moment that it's another replay, from the time Hank washed some red socks with Connor's white shirt or when he accidentally shot Connor in the shoulder while pursuing a suspect, but the tone doesn't match. 

Rather than embarrassed or panicked, Hank just sounds wretched.

"There's no need to apologise," Connor says. "I can understand why you would want to get answers from Detective Powell."

"That's not what I'm sorry for," Hank says, taking a step forward then hesitating. "I mean, I _am_ sorry for going to Powell but mostly I'm sorry that any of this shit happened to you."

"It was part of the mission," Connor says, just in case Hank has misunderstood his role in this. "I was assigned to the Calderon case and I was a willing participant in everything that happened. Calderon is in jail; the mission was accomplished successfully."

There's a strange sympathy in Hank's eyes as he stares at him. Connor shifts, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and his discomfort only increases when Hank asks, "So everything we saw in that footage, you wanted all of that?"

"Yes," Connor says automatically. "It was required to accomplish the mission."

"I'm sure it was," Hank says. "And I'm sure you did a good job, just like you do at everything else, but did you want it to happen?"

Connor swallows. "I wanted to complete the mission."

"And you'd do it again today if you could?"

Connor opens his mouth to respond in the affirmative but the words won't form. Errors rise at the edge of his vision, accompanied by flashes of _hands, belts, pain, laughter_ , and he blinks rapidly as he hurries to clear them away.

By the time they vanish, Hank has moved closer. He's reaching out a hand like he wants to touch his shoulder but he lowers his arm when Connor comes back to himself. 

Recalling the greedy press of hands against his throat and chest, Connor can understand why Hank wouldn't want to touch him.

"I'd ensure my partner was comfortable with it first," Connor says. "My programming was able to adapt to what the case required; I would be able to do it again."

"Oh, I know you'd be able to," Hank says. "But would you choose to?"

Connor quietens the thrum of warnings in his head. "Yes."

"Really?" Hank asks. His voice is gentle as he moves in closer. "Because a few minutes ago, you said you didn't want any of what happened to you."

Connor's stress levels ratchet higher. He feels trapped, exposed by his own stupid admission, and he almost thinks a smack across the face would be easier to process than this strange acceptance. "I- It was challenging but I agreed- I let them-"

Hank does touch him then, a warm hand resting on his shoulder, and despite himself, despite everything he's done, Connor leans into it. Hank's other hand comes up to cup his cheek and Connor closes his eyes as he whispers, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have a single goddamn thing to be sorry for," Hank says, pressing a firm kiss to Connor's forehead. "Unlike everyone else involved in that fucking case."

Connor shakes his head, opening his eyes as he pulls back a fraction. "It's my fault. I agreed-"

"You were given orders," Hank corrects, "and you obeyed because that's what you were programmed to do. I have no idea how it all felt at the time but even if you were okay back then, you've got a mountain of horrifying shit ready to be replayed back to you at a moment's notice. Christ, if I was you, I wouldn't make it out of bed most days."

"I had cases to work," Connor says, and then, quietly, "and I think Sumo would get upset if he couldn't have the bed all day."

Hank rolls his eyes and tugs him in closer. The kiss to his temple is more for reassurance than anything else and Connor takes it gratefully as he lets Hank pull him into a hug. It's not until he's tucked firmly in Hank's arms, his face buried in his shoulder, that Connor realizes just how much he's wanted this. 

He can feel the steady rise and fall of Hank's chest, could count his heartbeats if he were so inclined, and after days (weeks, months) of worrying that Hank wouldn't want anything to do with him if he found out what he'd done, having Hank's arms wrapped around him is more soothing than every single one of his programmed coping methods combined.

"God, don't remind me," Hank grumbles. His beard tickles Connor's cheek when he kisses him. "Just once I'd like to get home to a pillow which doesn't have dog drool on it."

Connor smiles at that, pulling back enough from the hug to see Hank's face. He's relieved Hank's jacket is dark enough to hide any evidence of tears.

"Do you..." Connor gestures awkwardly to the two of them and quickly provides an escape route, "It's all right if you don't. I wouldn't expect-"

"If you finish that sentence, I'm going to need to go break Powell's nose in at least two more places," Hank says. "The fact that you were raped by some fucking sociopaths doesn't change a single thing about us."

Connor can't keep from tensing at his phrasing.

"It wasn't rape," he says firmly. "Even if it was possible to have non-consensual sex with an android then, I still agreed to it."

Hank opens his mouth, clearly ready to argue, but Connor is taken by surprise when he just nods. "Okay. I'm not gonna put words in your mouth. I wish you felt like you could've told me but I get why you didn't."

Connor exhales in relief, glad to avoid delving too deeply into an argument he isn't sure he'd win. "Thank you."

"So what happens now?" Hank asks, stepping back and fixing his collar. "If you want to steer clear of Powell and this case, I sure as hell wouldn't blame you."

"No, this is my case too. We should-" Connor starts, before recalling Hank's earlier words. "Wait. You needed to break Powell's nose in two _more_ places?" He looks him over with an analytical eye, reassessing the growing bruise on Hank's temple. "You fought with him?"

"It was more of a short scuffle than a fight?"

"You broke his nose!"

"I may have broken his nose," Hank says, with what Connor considers to be the bare minimum amount of contrition. "Come on, you're not going to say he didn't deserve it."

Connor very purposefully does not say that and takes a different tack. "That isn't the point -- you can't just hit other officers! What if he reports you to the Captain?"

"He won't," Hank promises. "He's too scared of getting kicked off the force if anyone else finds out what he did to you."

"Powell never touched me," Connor says. He remembers Powell's hand curled around his throat and amends, "Not in a sexual context at least."

"He said as much," Hank admits, "but they'll still have his badge if they find out what he made you do."

An unpleasant jitter runs through Connor's system at the thought of Captain Fowler and his colleagues finding out what his police work used to entail. 

_I've never seen anyone needing to star in fuckin' android fetish porn as part of the job._

A clip of Reed's incredulous sneer lingers and Connor tries to keep his voice level as he says, "I could lose my job too. Not all of our operations were officially documented; if Detective Reed raises a complaint about that tape-"

"For once in his life, Reed's lips are sealed," Hank says. "He's deleting the recording as we speak."

Connor does a double-take. "Reed's destroying evidence? Why?"

"Because the five percent of his personality which isn't just 'being an asshole' finally woke up and did something useful," Hank says. "Fair warning: he's probably still going to be a dick to you in future but it won't be about what's on that tape."

"Oh." Connor straightens his tie twice, a brief respite of familiarity amid the current chaos. "Thank you." 

"No problem," Hank says. "Powell should keep his mouth shut too if he knows what's good for him. That just leaves whoever's going around killing people."

"You think they know about me?"

"I'd say we're way past coincidence now," Hank says. "Someone's obviously taking out people connected to the Calderon case and it can't just be bad luck that they're all the people who, uh, encountered you."

After what he'd seen on the recording, the euphemism seems unnecessary and Connor files it away as a human quirk. 

"I don't know why they would be targeted but it's the best lead we have at the moment," he agrees. "I can work through the others? They may have been attacked already or we may be able to get to them before the killer does."

Hank presses his lips into a thin line, even as he nods. "We should look into it. Who, uh- How many others were there?"

"Two." The answer is instant and he belatedly notices the way Hank's expression darkens with anger. "That's in addition to the men who have been killed so far. Three, if you count Calderon."

"Did he not-" Hank clears his throat. "I mean, did you arrest him before anything happened?"

A familiar warning appears when Connor dips back into that part of his memory banks and he isn't lying when he says, "I don't know." 

At Hank's frown, he elaborates as much as he can, "He gave me something. I think it was one of Wade's projects; it acted like a virus. It corrupted my short-term memory banks -- I know we arrested Calderon and I remember needing repairs afterwards but most of what happened after we went to his house is gone."

Hank's expression is more grim that Connor was expecting in response to the relatively good news. 

"We should leave Calderon on the list," Hank says. "Of suspects and of future victims." He digs in his pocket for his phone. "I'll speak to Kadis. See what she has on Calderon's associates."

"I can run a search on the other two men," Connor says. "It shouldn't take long."

Hank hesitates, thumb paused over his screen. "Connor, wait. Are you sure about this?"

"We need to catch whoever's doing this."

"I know," Hank says. "I know. I'm not saying we let them get away but I saw how you reacted to the bodies we found so far. Do you really want to go looking for the people who did that to you? Chances are finding them alive is going to be even shittier than finding them dead."

"We have to finish this case," Connor says with more confidence than he really feels. "I'd prefer not to see any of them again but they don't deserve to die-"

Hank doesn't bother to hide his snort. "Debatable."

"In either case," Connor continues, "we can't let a killer go free. We need to find them."

"Okay," Hank says. "I'll take your lead on this one. Let me call Kadis while you figure out who's most likely to be next on the hitlist."

The searches are cued up before he even finishes his sentence but Connor holds off on them for a moment. He straightens his tie again, feeling his stress levels slowly inch downward, and says, "Lieutenant-" He catches himself and smiles. "Hank. Thank you."

"It's what I'm here for," Hank says sincerely. "I know a shoulder-pat and a hug isn't going to fix everything but if you ever want to talk or anything, I'll listen."

"And give me shoulder-pats and hugs?"

Some of the exhaustion on Hank's face fades as he chuckles. "Just try and stop me."

He gives Connor a wink then turns away to make his call. Connor runs his searches, focusing on the names and dates of the two surviving men rather than on their too-familiar faces, but he's tugged back to his surroundings by the note of worry in Hank's voice.

"-slow down. What's happened?"

Only able to hear Hank's half of the conversation, Connor listens in as Hank paces back and forth. 

"How the hell did they fuck up the warrant?" Hank asks, a mixture of anger and fear rising in his voice before being pushed down again. "No, I know. I just- Fuck."

Dread begins to wind its way through Connor's system.

"How soon?" 

A pause. 

"And there's nothing you can do? Can't you lock his ass up for jaywalking or some other bullshit?" 

A second, longer pause. 

"No, I know." Hank glances over his shoulder to Connor. "I'll tell him. We'll head back to the station soon. Thanks, Kadis."

He hangs up a moment later. Connor doesn't really need to be told anything -- it isn't difficult to guess what's happened -- but it doesn't seem real until Hank meets his eyes and says, stunned, "Calderon's out."


	8. Chapter 8

Kadis is halfway through the third box of evidence on her desk and on the verge of stepping out for her first smoke break in two years when Hank calls.

Slapping on an out of date nicotine patch, she tucks the phone against her shoulder as she asks, "Did you two make it to the safehouse yet?"

There's a suspicious silence on the other end of the line before Hank says, "About that..."

"Oh no," she says, dropping the manila file on her desk. "We agreed! There's a safehouse ready and waiting for you and your partner. Why are you not in it?"

"We need to solve this case, Kadis."

"No shit, Anderson! But you also need to not die in the process."

Hank scoffs. "We're not going to die."

"I wish I had your confidence," Kadis mutters. "We've got three bodies so far, all connected to the Calderon case. Who's to say Powell or Connor aren't next?"

"Who's to say Calderon himself isn't next?" Hank counters. "Look, we've got leads on two other possible victims. We're checking in on one of them and Reed and a couple of uniforms are taking the other. Once we find them, we'll head back to the precinct and help you go through the evidence with a fine-tooth comb 'til we find something to put him back in lock-up."

Kadis sighs in frustration. "Do you really need me to list all the things that could go wrong with that plan?"

There's a rustle on the other end of the line and Hank's voice is quieter but no less urgent when he says, "I don't know, do you need me to list everything that could go wrong with shoving Connor in a safehouse?"

"For fuck's sake, Anderson! It's called a safehouse for a reason. Meaning it'll be _safe_."

"Assuming Calderon doesn't have someone in the department ready to pass him the address?"

Kadis' eyebrows shoot up. "What the fuck are you implying?"

"Nothing," Hank says, but he doesn't sound remotely apologetic. "I'm just saying, if he weaseled his way out of jail on a paperwork fuck-up, maybe it was by design rather than by accident."

"Are you suggesting one of my people-"

"I'm not suggesting anything," Hank says, "but as far as Connor and this case goes, I'm not taking any chances, you understand me?"

"Anderson-"

"You just worry about yourself and your team," he says. "Not that I have any personal bias, but if I just got out of jail and was going to murder somebody, Detective Powell would be pretty goddamn high on my list."

Kadis sighs. "Point taken. Okay, I won't make you go to the safehouse-" Hank's chuckle translates as 'you can try' and she ignores it. "-but call me if you find anything at the potential victim's house and get back to the precinct as soon as you can. Who knows, maybe we can just hide you and Connor in the filing room; that way not even Calderon will find you."

"Hilarious," Hank says with sarcasm but she can hear the smile in his voice. "You're not using this as an opportunity to make us do your paperwork."

"Consider it payback for those drinks you owe me," Kadis says. The teasing does little to calm her nerves but she reassures herself that at least he and Connor can watch each other's backs. "Call me when you get to the victim's house. Look after yourselves."

"Will do," Hank promises. "Let us know if the people trailing Calderon pick up anything."

Kadis nods. "Of course. Speak to you later."

The other end of the line falls silent and she slumps back in her chair. Her fingers itch for a cigarette but she takes a deep breath, pushes the box of evidence aside, and starts checking through the database for all DPD personnel who worked on the Calderon case.

She's worked with Hank for long enough to know he might have a point.  


+++

  
Hank spends more of the drive looking at Connor than looking at the road.

He seems placid enough, talking through theories about Calderon and the potential victims with his LED comfortably blue, and it's hard to reconcile this side of him with the flood of knowledge of the things he went through before he and Hank met. 

He knows androids aren't human, that they process things differently, but even after all the shit he said to Connor when they first met, he can't fathom ever subjecting an android to everything that Powell orchestrated. Nausea rolls through him at the thought of his conversation with Powell and the glimpse of Hess' recording and he reaches out to rest his hand on Connor's shoulder.

Connor looks over at him in surprise and reaches up to squeeze Hank's fingers as he asks, "Is everything okay?"

The short answer is 'no' but that's not what Connor needs to hear. 

"It's fine," Hank lies. "Just hoping we get there before anything happens to this next guy."

Another lie, if he's being honest with himself. He's a good cop and he wants to solve this case but if he happens to solve it after everyone who hurt Connor is dead and buried, that's just a lucky coincidence.

"The last two were the same night," Connor says. "If the killer is working in order, I don't know which of them would be in danger first."

_Wade tied up the android, put it under the table, and then they passed it around like a bowl of snacks. Even had a belt around its neck to pull it from cock to cock._

Powell's words from that morning echo in Hank's head and his grip tightens on the wheel at the thought of Connor being dragged around on a makeshift leash. For what may be the first time in his life, he's actually grateful to see Reed's name on his caller ID and he picks up the call halfway through the first ring. "What've you got?"

"A corpse," Reed says grimly. "Fresh too, maybe 24 hours."

"Same as the other ones?"

"Eyes and all, the whole nine yards." Reed sighs. "What happened to an old-fashioned bullet to the head?"

"Once we catch this guy, I'll be sure to ask him," Hank says. "I'm guessing you didn't find anything at the house yet?"

"Just got here," Reed says and Hank hears him chewing his gum. "I'll keep you posted."

He hangs up without asking after Connor, which Hank decides is for the best, and Hank puts his foot down as they get closer to their destination.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Connor open his mouth to ask a question but then close it again, apparently piecing together what happened just from Hank's half of the conversation. As they pull up beside the potential next victim's house, Connor frowns though and peers through the window. "Did you ask someone to meet us here?"

Hank's gun is in his hand before the car is even in park. "Why?"

"There's a car..."

Connor trails off, blinking quickly as he runs the plates. "Oh."

"Oh? Should I start shooting?"

A smirk flickers across Connor's lips. "I think you've already done enough damage today. It's Detective Powell's car."

"Powell?" Hank exits the car, keeping his gun in hand as he looks up at the house. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

"There's a high probability he's doing the same thing we are," Connor says patiently. "Figuring out how many victims this killer has left to get through before they start coming after him."

"No-one is getting anywhere near you," Hank grumbles. As much as he would love to shoot Powell in, say, the knee and call it an accident, he lowers his gun and follows Connor up to the door of the house. 

It's a huge place, three storeys set back against an incline and cut off from the road by a thick line of trees. There's what looks like a poolhouse tucked in the corner of the expansive yard and Hank lets out a low whistle when he passes the sports car in the driveway. "Who the hell is this guy?"

"He's a corporate lawyer," Connor says. "He won a large pharmaceutical case last year."

"Y'know, this really isn't making me want to find him alive," Hank points out. The front door is ajar and Hank sticks his head inside as he rings the bell. "Anyone home?"

There's a pause, then the thump of footsteps on the stairs, then a familiar voice. "Anderson? The fuck are you doing here?"

Hank moves inside, careful to keep himself between Powell and Connor at all times. Powell looks worse for wear, with a dressing over his broken nose and bruises darkening around his eyes, and Hank doesn't bother to hide his grin. "Nice to see you again, Powell. How's the nose?"

Powell takes a step forward, fists clenched. "Fuck you and the whore you rode in on, Anderson." 

It's Hank's turn to press forward, hand tightening on his gun, but Connor is in front of him before he can give Powell the punch he rightly deserves. 

"Hank," Connor says, quiet but firm. "Not now."

Behind him, Powell makes a show of checking out Connor's ass and it takes every last ounce of Hank's willpower to holster his gun. 

"The owner in?"

Powell nods to the stairs. "Up in his office. Very dead."

"Recent?"

Powell shrugs. "Few hours maybe. The coroner's on the way, should know more once she gets here."

"Show me," Hank says. 

Powell raises his hand in mock surrender and turns to lead the way up the stairs, but Hank puts a hand on Connor's chest when he moves to follow. 

"You check out down here," he says, low enough for Powell not to hear. "If you find anything relevant to this murder, not the Calderon case, let me know."

Connor blinks at the implication. "He wouldn't have any-" He smoothes his tie down. "I mean, yes. I can check for evidence. Will you be all right with Powell?"

"I'll be fine." He raises his voice for Powell's benefit. "If he wants to have all his teeth by the time he comes back down, he'll watch his mouth."

Not looking back, Powell flips him off and Hank gives Connor a quick kiss while Powell's back is turned. 

"I'm good" Hank promises. "Let's just focus on finding this killer."  


+++

  
Kadis isn't sure whether she's dismayed or relieved that none of the DPD involved in the case seem to be dirty.

She's been through personnel lists, disciplinary records, education, career history, addresses and social media profiles, and while she's learned a lot more about her colleagues' taste in memes than she ever needed, she's coming up blank on anyone who might be in league with Calderon. 

Rubbing her eyes, she switches from the screen showing the database to the box of paper evidence at her side. She's oddly grateful for how behind the times the prison system is when she pulls out a copy of the visitors' book from the jail where Calderon was held for the best part of a year. 

HIs visitors were regularly monitored and mostly consisted of his lawyers and some of his braver business contacts but Kadis frowns when her eyes track over a new name on the visitors' list in the last month.

It's oddly familar, although not in a way connected to the case at hand, and she clicks her tongue as she racks her brain for any recollection of where the name is from. A memory tugs at the back of her mind, just clear enough to send a sharp spike of panic down her spine, and she curses under her breath as she grabs the tablet again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

It takes a minute but she manages to find the security footage from the date of the visitor in question. Half-wishing she had an android around to help with the search, she speeds through the footage to the time of the sign-in and leans in close to peer at the screen.

"Fuck!"

Her heart sinks at the confirmation. Pushing aside the barrage of _why when how_ , she scrambles for her phone and doesn't take her eyes off the person in the footage as she dials Hank's number.  


+++

  
"Huh."

From behind him, Hank can almost hear Powell rolling his eyes before he replies, "Why huh? Looks pretty standard to me." Powell pauses. "For a fucked up definition of standard, anyway."

He isn't wrong on that front; the wounds to the eyes, the 'IX' carved on the chest, the formal posing of the body, it's all consistent with the previous killings, but Hank's eyes linger on the blood pooling around the victim's head.

He digs in his jacket pocket for a latex glove and slips it on as Powell moves in closer, curious. "You doubling as a coroner now, old man?"

Hank gives him the (glove-covered) finger before crouching down to press two fingers to the side of the victim's neck. 

Powell snorts. "You're shit out of luck if you're checking for a pulse."

Hank ignores the jibe. "How long did you say he'd been dead?"

"Few hours? I only just got here myself."

Hank shakes his head, frowning. "Body's still warm. Real warm." He peers down at the back of the victim's neck. "No rigor mortis, no lividity yet, and that blood hasn't even started to dry."

Powell yawns. "You wanna get to the point some time this century?"

"He was killed recently. Less than an hour ago." 

Hank's cell rings and he reaches into his pocket for it as he says, "We should check out any security cameras -- rich neighborhood like this has gotta have footage. We should set up a perimeter; the killer might still be in the area."

"He might," Powell agrees. 

His voice is nearer than Hank expected but Hank's attention is on his phone as Kadis' name pops up on the caller ID. 

He starts to push himself to his feet but doesn't get more than halfway before he feels something scrape the base of his neck. He reaches back to bat it away but blinks, hazy, when his arm only raises a few inches.

"What-"

His legs go next, sending him dropping to his knees, and as he fumbles to answer his cell, it slips from his clumsy hands to land in the pool of the victim's still-wet blood.

Panic surges through him, adrenaline and fear making his heart pound, but his body feels like it's been covered in wet cement. It's all he can do to catch himself on his arms as he falls to the floor and he slumps over onto his back as he calls, "Connor!"

It comes out as barely more than a whisper and Hank's eyes go wide when he sees Powell looking down at him, expression blank and a small syringe tucked between his fingers. 

"Sorry, old man," Powell says, with the faintest hint of contrition. "If it helps any, you weren't one of the guys on his list."

_Whose list?_ Hank wants to say. _Calderon's? Are you working for him?_

However, his mouth won't move any more than the rest of him will and he looks over at the corpse beside him when his phone finally stops ringing. 

"Fucking Kadis," Powell says, peering over at the phone. "We were so fucking close to being done, too." 

He slips the syringe into his jacket pocket and Hank's breath catches when he pulls out a bloodstained screwdriver in its place. He thinks about dying like this, paralysed and mutilated like the rest of the killer's -- _Powell's, fucking Powell's_ \-- victims, and he prays that Connor isn't the one to find his body.

The screwdriver comes down in a swift stab but Hank exhales when he sees it slam into his phone to cut off Kadis' second attempt at calling. The crash of metal through plastic is loud in the quiet house and Hank's eyes dart to the door when he hears the thump of Connor's feet on the stairs.

"Shit," Powell mutters. 

He drops the screwdriver, draws his gun and stands back upright as Connor comes running into the room. 

"Lieutenant? Is everything all right? I heard-"

He comes to a halt faster than any human would be able to and even from the floor, Hank can see his LED lit up bright red. 

Powell levels his gun at Hank's head and looks over to Connor. "If you're thinking about calling this in, I'd advise against it."

Connor raises his hands, eyes wide as he looks between Powell and Hank in fear. "I haven't called anyone."

"Glad to see you can do something right," Powell says snidely, "but we both know you're not great at following instructions."

Too focused on the gun and Connor, Hank doesn't see what Powell does with his other hand but terror spikes through him when he hears Connor scream. 

Connor drops to his knees, doubled over in pain as he presses his hands to his ears. Whatever he's blocking out is at the wrong frequency for Hank to hear and he tries with everything he has to move his body when he sees the thirium trickling from Connor's nose. 

It's in his mouth as well, staining his lips as he grits his teeth against whatever's hurting him, and Hank looks to Powell in desperation when blue blood starts to run from Connor's ears too. 

"Relax," Powell says, to Hank more than to Connor as he holsters his weapon and strides over to where Connor is curled on his knees. "It's just a jammer."

He waves what looks like a tiny remote in Hank's direction and gives him a wink. 

They're illegal -- have been since they originally worked on cell phones and even more so since people realised they affected androids -- but after so many murders, he doubts possessing a jammer is high on Powell's list of concerns.

Powell moves past Connor to the door where a dark backpack is leaning against the wall and crouches down to pull out two items. Hank recognizes the first as handcuffs -- the new solid plastic type, designed to be android-proof -- but the second looks more like an old-fashioned bicycle lock, a thick metal cord coated with plastic. 

He can't do anything, can't even lift a finger as Powell grabs Connor's wrists and cuffs them together behind his back. Connor struggles as much as he can but the jammer is still doing its work and he can barely keep himself on his knees, let alone muster a good defence. The cord is next, pulled around Connor's throat like a collar, and Powell peers closer as he shoves something on the cord into the port at the top of Connor's spine.

He flicks the jammer off again and Hank clings to what little comfort he can when Connor slumps against the wall, dazed but no longer in pain. He tries to lift his hand to wipe the blood from his face but jerks in confusion at the cuffs holding him in place. 

Standing over him, Powell lands a mocking slap to Connor's face as he asks, "You still with me, plastic?"

"What-" Connor blinks. His gaze travels over to Hank and he starts forward. "What've you done to him?"

"Just a sedative," Powell says. "You behave yourself and he'll be fine."

Connor's eyes meet Hank's and Hank realises that, for the first time he's ever seen, Connor's LED is blank.

"Don't hurt him," Connor says. "Please. I won't call anyone."

Powell laughs. "I know." He hooks a finger through the collar and tugs. "You couldn't even if you wanted to." 

Hank wants to know what that means -- _is Connor injured? can he be repaired? what does he want with him?_ \-- but Connor seems to have other priorities as he looks between Hank and the corpse. "You did this? You killed all those people?"

Powell sounds almost regretful when he says, "Guess so."

"Why? You worked the Calderon case; you know what he's done. Why would you help him?"

" _Because_ I know what he's done," Powell says. He strolls over to retrieve his screwdriver and scans the room for anything he's missed. "He had enough strings to pull to get out of jail either way. This was always going to end with people getting killed and call me selfish, but I'd prefer that to not include me."

Connor looks horrified. "So you worked for him? You killed people?"

"Like they didn't deserve it," Powell says, sneering. "But yeah. That was the deal: he doesn't cut me into tiny pieces and I help him get his revenge on the people who led a rat to his door."

"They didn't know we were with the police!"

Powell gestures to the body. "Do you really think he gives a shit what they knew? Mitch, Wade, the rest, they were all dumb fucks anyway. Too psyched about shoving their dick in a shiny new android to do their due diligence."

Hank wants to know how Connor fits into this, what Calderon and Powell intend to do with him, but he can't even move his lips, let alone form words, so all he can do is listen.

"And Lieutenant Anderson?" Connor asks. "He hasn't done anything -- he didn't even work the Calderon case!"

"I know," Powell says, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "If Calderon knew Anderson had been fucking his favorite android, things might've been different but as it stands, he's not on Calderon's list. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time." He puts a hand over his heart and says sarcastically, "Tragic."

"Let him go," Connor says. "You can do whatever you want with me -- I'll come quietly. Just leave Hank alone."

Powell grins and Hank's fingers itch to curl into fists when Powell grabs Connor by the front of his shirt and hauls him to his feet. "Damn straight you'll come quietly. You're not exactly in a great bargaining position here, plastic."

Connor meets Hank's eyes over Powell's shoulder. Hank wants to tell him to fight, to run, to do anything other give himself up on Hank's behalf, but all he can do is stare.

"Don't hurt him." Connor's voice is barely above a whisper as he looks at Powell. "I- I'll do whatever Calderon wants."

Hank's eyes go wide. He assumed Calderon wanted Connor dead, maybe even wanted to rough him up a little first, but stupidly, _stupidly_ , he hadn't expected this.

_Connor, don't you fucking dare._

Anger burns through him, fury directed at Calderon, Powell, the dead men, Kadis, himself, anyone who was even partly responsible for putting Connor in this position. 

He can't voice it though, can't do anything but watch as Powell pats Connor on the cheek. "I'll remember that when the boss gets his toys out."

Connor closes his eyes when Powell steps away and even from the floor, Hank can see the tremors running through his arms. 

"Don't worry," Powell says, moving to stand over Hank, "I've never killed an honest cop and I don't plan to start now. We'll be long gone before that sedative wears off anyway." He reaches up to touch the dressing over his broken nose and gives Hank a cruel grin as he says, "I think I owe you one though, don't you?"

He draws the screwdriver out again, flipping it between his fingers, and scans Hank's prone body. Hank takes deep breaths, bracing himself as much as possible, but there's nothing he can do to block it when Powell brings the screwdriver down through his arm.

Distantly, he hears Connor yelling but can't process it past the searing pain which shoots down to his fingertips and up through his shoulder. Powell leaves the screwdriver there, skewering his forearm and partly digging into the floor beneath, and Hank squeezes his eyes shut as involuntary tears start to gather.

He doesn't hear what Powell says to him after that, can't even hear what Connor yells at Powell as he struggles against his grip. It's enough to earn him a smack across the face though and Hank blinks the blur of tears away long enough to get one final look at Connor as Powell marches him out.

He resolutely does not think about the fact that it might be the last time he sees Connor alive.


End file.
